


Courtly Dances

by keds



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Background Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Post-show canon, Slow Burn, Smut, brief mentions of past abuse, eventually minor descriptions of physical abuse, kind of a crossover between Elizabeth I and Guinevere of Camelot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keds/pseuds/keds
Summary: Sansa Stark, recently crowned Queen in the North, expects her loyal knight Ser Brienne to return to her side following the election of her brother as King Bran. A change in plans sends newly knighted Ser Podrick Payne to her side in Brienne's stead, who surprisingly becomes a steadfast and true knight in her service. Sansa is pressured by her liege lords to find a husband and produce heirs to the Northern throne despite her reluctance to allow a non-Stark man power in her new realm. While entertaining these suggestions, she sets off a chain of events leading to power struggles, possible lost love, and heart ache.





	1. Chapter One

“Your Grace, may we have a moment?”

I sigh, and look up. Two guards stoop sheepishly in the doorway of my solar. I’ve been so used to correcting many maids and servants that I was Lady Stark, not Your Highness or Your Grace, and I still haven’t gotten used to the title owed to a queen. 

“Apologies, my good men. Yes, what is it?” I know I shouldn’t necessarily apologize for really anything as Queen in the North, but I do not wish to sow dislike when it’s not earned. 

“Your Grace, a knight from the South is here. He says he wishes to speak to you.”

“A knight? From the South?”

“Yes, Your Grace. He says he was sent by a Ser… Brennan? Brian? He said you would know the knight well, but the name sounded like one we hadn’t heard before for a knight.”

I smile to myself. Ser Brienne, the first knighted woman in all of Westeros. “Is Podrick the knight’s name who is here in Winterfell?”  
“Aye, Your Grace. He’s waiting in the courtyard.”

“Take me to him, please.” I tidy the papers I was examining and stand up. Both men bow immediately and allow me to lead the way to the courtyard. I want to run as the panic swells in my stomach – surely Pod is here to deliver bad news. Why else would Brienne not be with him? 

As we step off the last spiral staircase and turn the sharp corner that opens into the grand courtyard, the bustle of people working blocks my view and I cannot find him immediately. The bustle is necessary, even good, as we are still trying to recover from the Battle of the Long Night and expand to properly house a royal court, but I become frustrated with how it slows me down. Finally, I see the squire’s – no, now the knight’s– familiar reddish brown leather armor, poorly concealed by a too-small and too-thin cloak. His round face is the same as always – calm, a faint smile on his lips, his eyebrows tugged up in a way that makes him look content and confused at the same time. I can tell that he is cold by the way he’s holding his shoulders, but he is careful to not draw attention to the fact around the roughened Northerners. His wide brown eyes survey the ramparts as if he’d never seen them before. But, of course, he has. He lived here with Brienne and fought here with all of us in the Battle of the Long Night. Maybe he’s not inspecting them as though they’re new, maybe he’s greeting them as though they’re home. 

“Ser Podrick, welcome back to Winterfell,” I call out to him once we’re close enough.

“Your Grace,” he immediately dips into a low bow. It takes me back to a time when we both served King Joffrey and now I’m the one suppressing a shudder. “T-thank you, Your Grace. It’s good to be back.”

“How was your trip?” I want to ask about Brienne, but courtesies should be taken care of first. 

“Well. It was. The trip, Your Grace,” he bites back a smile at his usual awkwardness. 

“Excellent. Hopefully you adjust to the cold again soon, though. I’ll send a proper cloak to your chambers.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. ‘T-tis very kind of you.”

“Well, I can’t let you freeze to death in the North. What would Ser Brienne think of me then?” We both share a quick chuckle. “Speaking of our esteemed lady knight, where is she? Why has she sent you in her stead?”

Podrick looks down, the red creeping back up his neck. “King Bran has required her assistance f-for longer than was anticipated. She didn’t want you – Your Grace to be left unattended for too long, so she sent me to g-guard you.”

“To guard me?”

“Yes, Your Grace. As part of your Q-queensguard.”

“My Queensguard?” I shake my head at how ridiculous we must sound, echoing each other. People near us have begun to stare at their usually stately queen babbling with a knight in the courtyard. “Let’s get out of the cold and back to my solar to discuss this.” 

He follows me dutifully back up the spiral stairs. We’re alone, as I sent the other two guards back to the gates after they started gaping at Podrick and I. Moving my grey skirts out of the way as I settle back into my desk seat and Podrick faces me, standing rim rod straight.  
“As it turns out, I hadn’t planned on starting a Queensguard, as it’s not Northern royal tradition. And Ser Brienne said nothing to me of this plan when we were both in King’s Landing last.”

“Maybe she didn’t mean a Queensguard in the traditional sense, Your Grace, but she did want to make sure you were protected by people you trust. Well hopefully. Trust, I mean.” He bites his lip and my heart warms a bit to the earnest man. 

“Of course I trust you and Ser Brienne, Ser Podrick. You’re maybe the only two knights in all of Westeros I would trust fully.” His chest puffs out at the compliment. “It’s only that Ser Brienne is pledged to my service, and I was expecting her to stay with my brother the King for a few months to select people for his own Kingsguard. Why have the plans changed?”

Podrick takes a deep breath, as though he’s rehearsed his responses during his entire three-week solo ride from King’s Landing to Winterfell. “She is being tasked with training the new Kingsguard, and King Bran… expected you to be amenable to the change in plans.” The red returns to his face yet again. I almost roll my eyes at Bran’s assessment of my reaction. Of course he would see this, or he could tell me he saw it as such so that I wouldn’t fight this decision for long. 

“The fact still remains, Ser Podrick, that you are not bound to be in my service by any vows or any expectations of vows. How do you feel about this change in plans? Do you truly wish to stay in the North and guard me yourself?”

“I-I, it’s not for me to have any feelings about this, Your Grace.”

I stare at him for a beat. “Of course you do- and should, Ser Podrick. You were knighted by someone in the South, one of the many rulers we saw rise and fall over the past few months. You are not duty bound to me, and you cannot serve two monarchs at the same time, dead or alive.”

“Your Grace, I was knighted by Ser Brienne.”

“Ah.” Considering the dilemma, I look away from the nervous man in front of me and gaze at the fire. For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine my father and how he would handle such a situation. Podrick, to his credit, doesn’t make a sound in these moments despite his obvious discomfort. “I will accept your guard provided we both understand it is temporary, until Ser Brienne returns from King’s Landing. At her return, you can decide what you would do – return south, possibly even to your own home, or you can stay here with us, or you can go anywhere else you wish. But it is to be your decision when the time comes. I cannot in good faith take advantage of your service without your consent or due credit.”

“Yes, Your Grace. That is f-fair.” He gives me a small smile, one that breaks the tension slightly. 

“Very well, Ser Podrick. Please go find Maester Crannen and have him send a raven to Ser Brienne announcing your safe arrival. I will call for a servant to show you to your rooms once they are prepared. Given our agreement, you can take up your guard starting tomorrow, after you’ve rested from your journey.” With a bow, the former squire exits my solar and leaves me alone to my thoughts and warm fire.


	2. Chapter Two

The next day I rise from bed when dawn’s sunbeams begin to creep into my bedroom. The fire has been stoked by my maid, Jeyne, who has also put out cool water for me to wash my face and hands. I sit at the small table that faces the window, still in my robe, and start to brush out my hair. It goes far down my back and takes several minutes for me to comb out the tangles from overnight. I mostly wear it down and unplaited now, despite my lady-in-waiting Nella Cerwyn’s braiding skills. Arya had suggested I wear it lose before she left Westeros for her adventure on the sea. We were sitting in my very bedroom, discussing my impending coronation, her regrets to decide to leave before its event, and how she had never seen me wear my hair without some sort of intricate style.

“You and I know you will be a just ruler, one who uses information and mercy when passing judgments, one who is not held back by other loyalties or ties. This country is your home – you are the blood of Winterfell – and you can show it to your people by presenting yourself as purely as you are,” Arya argued as Nella tried hairstyle after hairstyle. When Nella brushed out all the braids and spread my hair over my shoulders, the glowing embers from the fireplace caught it in a way that reflected a glow around the room. 

“Yes, Your Grace, this would do well,” Nella whispered. I nodded, biting back tears, and gave Arya a grateful smile. 

Sitting alone in my room now, the memory brings me both pride and sadness. For six months my sister has been gone without a word to anyone. Bran has written to say he can catch glimpses of her travels, but it’s nothing concrete enough to give us details of her whereabouts or safety. While she and I did not grow close when we were younger, in the years between her return home and her heartbreaking departure, we became close. 

A faint knock on my door announces Nella, who busies herself with choosing a gown for me to wear from the closet holding the daily, practical clothes I usually wear around the castle. They’re fairly simple and include greys, dark blues, and blacks, but their directness makes moving around a half-shattered castle easy. 

“The new knight is outside,” Nella informs me through pursed lips. 

“As he should be, he’s serving as my personal guard until Ser Brienne returns.” Nella hums in response, her lips drawn into a tight line. “What is it, Nella?”

“Your Grace, he’s Southron.”

“Yes, but so is Ser Brienne, and I’ve never heard you object to her presence.”

“She’s… different.” Nella always struggles to hold her opinions back, a trait in a lady-in-waiting I always have appreciated. Those who hide their thoughts are the ones who are hard to predict and trust. 

“She was pledged to a Southron king at one point, part of his Kingsguard, and only swore fealty to my mother when that king was murdered. She rode and fought with the Kingslayer. She’s from Southron nobility herself, which could be an argument to question her loyalty. And yet, we’ve accepted her as one of our own. We can extend that to Ser Podrick as well, who has protected and saved me from our enemies and defended Winterfell from the dead.” There’s silence from Nella. Her face is set hard, making her green eyes narrow as she sets the gown she’s chosen onto my bed. “There’s more you don’t trust about him though, isn’t there?” 

“It’s just he… he served the Lannisters. For longer than Ser Brienne rode with the Kingslayer. He owes any of his status to them, those who betrayed your family and held you captive in King’s Landing.” Nella is Arya’s age and has never left the North. I consider that good fortune, while she would begrudgingly admit she wishes she could see more of the world. But all of her understanding of Stark family lore comes from stories passed down from Northern men to Northern women to Northern children. 

“I was married to a Lannister,” I say quietly. Our eyes meet across the room and I can see her face lose its sharpness as she remembers that particular fact of my time spent south. “Ser Podrick was always helpful to me – although he didn’t speak much – and only truly showed concern and loyalty to Lord Tyrion, never his sister or brother or father. I expect that his travels with Brienne have helped shape his viewpoint of the world to value good people in his life and that he does not much hold onto his allegiance to any other family in both realms.” 

Nella considers this for a moment, and then nods her head. “Yes, Your Grace, that seems possible.”

“And besides, he’s only here temporarily until Ser Brienne returns, and then he shall make his own decisions in the world. But come, let’s not dwell on Southron men and their loyalties, there will be time for that later as I read over the daily correspondence. Will you walk with me before we break our fast?” 

We walk around the courtyard, through the courtyard, past the armory, and into the godswood. Each morning I walk through the godswood, giving silent thanks to the old gods for our home and our independence. Sometimes I speak my thoughts aloud so maybe Bran will hear them and know how we are faring this far north. Today, I do no such thing as Nella walks alongside me and Podrick walks behind me. It’s a quick walk past the heart tree today, as there is a brisk wind howling through the castle and even I am uncomfortable by its cutting cold. 

Breakfast awaits us in the Great Hall. Our servants and workers all stand and bow or curtsy as I walk through, a courtesy I have yet to become accustomed. It slows things down and while I know there are due respects, part of me wishes that we could return to the days when I was merely Lady Sansa running the castle while King Jon was away, who expected a bowed head at most and could continue her tasks uninterrupted. Now a queen, I know it’s expected of me to be shown this level of respect and to accept it graciously. 

I beckon Podrick to eat with us, not wanting him to think us cruel people who do not offer food and drink to those working for us. He’s silent, as I expected he would be, but seems to be attentively listening to Nella’s chatter. It is chatter I always welcome as it helps distract me from my sometimes difficult thoughts, and she also provides some insight into intrigue between nobles and families and servants – all very helpful when managing a kingdom. I watch her bright eyes light up when she mentions what the cook told her last night about the boy from Mole’s Town who brought her red cabbage instead of green, and how there are rumors of mermaids being seen east of White Harbor. Her brown, curly hair falls into her face and she pauses her dancing hands to push it out of her eyes. Podrick seems mesmerized by her, a look I remember well from King’s Landing when I would regale Tyrion with stories from my childhood. 

“Ser Podrick,” I interrupt, “Do you mind telling Lady Nella about the time one of the Red Keep’s cook’s maids put eggs under her lover’s pillow when she was angry at him?” 

Podrick turns beet red, but smiles at the memory. “I b-believe you just told it, Your Grace.” 

“There was more though, wasn’t there? Something about how she thought she saw him walking with a young lady along the ramparts?” 

“But it was actually his g-grandmother, yes, Your Grace.” Nella’s eyes widen and a giggle escapes her mouth, joining mine and Podrick’s laughter. 

“What did she do when she found out?” Nella prompts Podrick, giving him one of her wide and warm smiles.

I fall into a reverie about my time in King’s Landing while he painstakingly tells her more and more stories at her bidding. Podrick and I rarely spoke back then – when I would try to talk to him while married to Tyrion, he would only turn red and look at his feet and stutter out the bare minimum of a response. It was mildly curious to me, but mostly frustrating as I so desperately wanted someone my age to talk to, maybe even joke with, as I saw the other ladies and lords do together. But each time he refused to say anything more, I felt more and more isolated and believed I could not ever be like the others around me, that I was destined to always feel alone even amongst hordes of people. 

Nella gently touches my arm as she unabashedly laughs at another story she’s goaded out of Podrick. I smile back at her fondly, appreciative of her. Even as a stranger to me, Nella helped me feel included when I returned to Winterfell with Jon after we defeated my second husband. She was much younger then, and prone to whispering and laughter at the most inappropriate times – character traits that endeared her to Arya, who encouraged me to take her in as my first lady-in-waiting. 

“Your Grace, it is time for you to hold court and address the concerns of your people,” Maester Crannen bends down to my ear, gesturing to the men and boys waiting to clear the tables out of the way. 

“Ah, of course, Maester Crannen, thank you. I am anxious for our new throne room to be built, so these duties can become obsolete for these servants.” We stand and exit into a small hallway between the Great Hall and the closest tower, waiting for the room to be transformed. 

Once it is, I sit in the newly carved throne made for my coronation. The two direwolves roar into the ceiling, symbols of our strength and fury when necessary. I respond to servants, townspeople, even minor noble’s concerns and questions until the sun starts its slow decline into the west. I have worked in the past several months on keeping my face as neutral as possible, to not show when my back starts to hurt from sitting so long or my stomach growls or I find the request to be too demanding, too petty, too difficult to resolve in a single setting. While Tyrion was last in Winterfell, he had told me in hushed tones of the Dragon Queen’s ruling style when holding court, how she would be impatient and abruptly cut off the time when she became too bored or tired to address the concerns of her Meerenese peoples. After my coronation, I stood at the heart tree in the godswood and vowed to always have patience and empathy for the people who came to me with problems that they tried and couldn’t resolve. I wanted no comparisons to the doomed Dragon Queen when I became the Wolf Queen in the North. 

Finally, the last person bows out of the Great Hall, and I am grateful for the break. Returning to my solar alone, save Podrick who plans to stand guard until I force him to retire for the night, I feel relieved when I finally sit at my desk to address the correspondence matters waiting for me.

There are a few notes from various maesters informing me of the updated food stores in their respective castles following the short but brutal winter. Tyrion writes me from King’s Landing, a letter I put aside as it seems more personal than business. A Braavosi bank lender offers me a low interest rate on a loan – that goes into the fire immediately. Mostly there are letters from my liege lords, trying in different ways to address the matter of my marriage prospects. 

I sigh loudly, causing Podrick to glance in my direction. “Are you okay, Your Grace?”

“Ser Podrick, would you believe me if I were to tell you I don’t relish in the attention and demands of ruling a newly independent country?”

“I would, Your Grace.” 

I study him for a moment. “What was your favorite part of our former life in King’s Landing?”

Podrick is silent for a beat. “Y-your Grace?” 

“Me, Ser Podrick, I think I miss the jousting tournaments we had while King Robert was still alive. Or maybe the lemon groves.”

“You always l-loved your lemon cakes, Your Grace.”

He’s looking down at me, his eyes almost crinkling in the corners. “You remember that, Ser Podrick? I always assumed you barely knew I existed then.” 

“I did. I mean, I-I do. Remember, that is. Your Grace.” I continue staring at him, waiting for more of this story. “I, uh, I would bring them. To y-your and Lord T-tyrion’s chambers. When cook made them. The lemon cakes.”

“Really, Podrick?” 

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

I remember the lemon cakes, I always assumed some maid trying to win my favor and learn my secrets would bring them. I almost never ate them out of fear. 

“Ser Podrick, that was very kind of you.”

“Y-you stopped eating them. After… y-you know… Your Grace…” I do know. It was after the Red Wedding, after my husband’s family killed my mother and brother and good sister at my uncle’s wedding feast. I could barely eat anything in the weeks after, let alone the sweet treats brought to me by my assumed faithless maids. 

“I’m sorry, Podrick. I always thought they were brought by strangers.” 

He nods and looks down at his feet. I never realized how tall he had gotten, in my mind he was still the small boy who never looked me in the eye in King’s Landing. And I was always so much taller than the other boys of my age, in the chaos of the past few years I hadn’t noticed how I seemed to be shrinking compared to them. 

“I appreciate it now, Ser Podrick.”

“O-of course, Your Grace.” His round face changes when he smiles, becoming less guarded and more relaxed. I find my heart warming to his gentleness when faced with my insistence to talk about my own unhappy time in King’s Landing. 

“You may call me Sansa, Ser Podrick. We’ve known each other long enough for that informality.”

Podrick shakes his head and turns red. “I-I can’t, Your Grace.”

I sigh, but know it comes from a place of absolute courtesy and maybe fear, so I can relate to why he can’t break that barrier. “Please at least call me Queen Sansa, if you feel you need to use such formality, Ser Podrick.”

“You can call me Ser Pod, Queen Sansa,” I hear the joke in his tone and return the grin that starts to spread across his face.

“So be it, Ser Pod,” I bite back my smile and then return to the papers in front of me, and he back to watching the door.

There’s a note from Maester Crannen, scribbled perhaps while he was half asleep. A midnight thought, mentioning a thanksgiving feast for the lords of the North who helped defeat the Night King and who helped fight for the North’s independence. I write a note back approving the invitations to be sent to the lords Manderly, Cerwyn, Glover, Poole, and Tallhart to arrive within the month.

“I hope you’re prepared for more northernmen around the castle, Ser Pod.” I tell him as I sign the note and put it aside, knowing full well that my invitation is for more than a feast – it shall be the start of the fight to win my hand in marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much longer than I expected it to be, but I wanted Sansa's new life to be set out as much as possible. Thank you everyone for the kudos and comments on the last chapter! Again, any feedback is much appreciated!


	3. Chapter Three

Nella doesn’t leave my side in the coming weeks, a tactic employed to prevent Pod and I from becoming too used to each other’s company, I believe. It’s a little silly but I’m willing to overlook it as she’s such a loyal lady and means it from the goodness of her heart. Nevertheless, I remind her she still has duties to tend to in my name. 

“I’m expecting to employee two more ladies in waiting, Nella, to join you and give you some company when I am otherwise occupied,” I tell her over a private dinner in my solar a week or so after Pod arrived. “And I would like you to help select two young women from those who will be coming for the thanksgiving feast. I believe you know the kind of ladies we’d be wanting to have around.” 

She gives me a crooked smile, a glint in her green eyes appearing. “Yes, my Queen, of course.” She takes a careful bite of her food. “I wish your sister Arya were here to be one of them, we’d have so much fun together.”

I give half a smile. “You two would probably get in too much trouble together,” I tease gently once the wave of sadness passes. “I wish she were here too.”

“We want someone that will make us laugh,” she says quickly, ever trying to keep me from dipping too low. “Maybe a lady who knows a few good pranks like the ones Ser Podrick was telling me the other day.” 

I can’t help but feel lighter at the mention of Pod and the memories we shared from King’s Landing. “I believe you’re thinking too mischievously for our simple court’s tastes. Let’s hope there are a few ladies with good sense and good humor, who will bring us both some pleasure when we share time together. But you know what I value most will be loyalty and honesty.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Right after a good laugh.” 

As Nella becomes otherwise occupied, I find myself inviting Pod to eat with me in my solar at night. It helps alleviate some of the loneliness that creeps in when I’m completely by myself. The holes left by my family that only seem to be quelled when I’m able to spend time with others. He always leaves his sword under the window. It’s within reach in case he needs to use it, but it also is far enough way to not be a threat to our pleasant time together. I have seen his dagger kept strapped to his hip remain there, a fact I find comforting. We usually discuss the day, perhaps some memories of the past and updates of the people we know in the South. He misses Brienne, I miss Brienne, and we both worry about Brienne and her heartache over the Kingslayer. 

We also continue my morning walks, sometimes joined by Nella, sometimes alone. I find myself musing more and more on the stories and songs I held in such esteem as a young girl, stories filled with noble knights and beautiful ladies. Scoffing at myself one morning when occupied by these thoughts, a curious Pod shoots me a glance from the corner of his eye.

“Is s-something amusing, Queen Sansa?” He asks from his position a half-step behind me. 

“I was just thinking about the stories I loved as a child, that’s all.”   
“Florian and Jonquil were always my favorite,” he says quietly. 

I stop and turn slowly to him, slightly shocked. “Mine too, Ser Pod.” Looking at him for a moment, a faint blush creeps up from his neck to the top of his cheekbones. I glance away quickly to not embarrass him more, but it makes me wonder if he identified with the famed but foolish knight. “I always wanted a noble knight to fall in love with me, just as Florian did with Jonquil. It was a little childish of me, I must admit.”

He looks at his feet. “I always wanted to be a great knight.” 

My heart melts a little and I can’t help but take his arm and link it with mine. “A wonderful ambition, Ser Pod. You’re surely on your way to becoming one.” He smiles shyly at me and seems to not be able to say another word. We continue our walk in contented silence, lost in thoughts of heroes and ladies and knights and famous swords and true love. It makes me almost feel like the girl I was before I left for King’s Landing, and the surrounding godswood scenery only adds to the illusion. 

Too quickly the thanksgiving feast approaches. Nella and I have prepared together by making new dresses for the occasion and practicing hair styles and speeches. Alone I have made sure the guest house and apartments were ready to be used, that enough candles and bath tubs and other amenities were stocked, and that our food and wine stores were filled to the brim to accommodate the one hundred or more guests we’d be hosting for at least a week. The poor cook’s assistant is sent to Mole’s Town multiple times to make sure we bought out the Dornish wine seller who only makes three trips North a year. We also bought his stores kept in a hidden cellar somewhere outside of the town, just to be safe. 

Guests begin to trickle in, starting with the servants tasked with bringing the lords’ and ladies’ luggage and finery and gifts. We ensure that they are sent to the right guest rooms and that the servants are given enough food, ale, and rest before the rest of their houses arrive. Once they begin, my time is spent greeting each family member in the courtyard, including distant cousins that had been found and welcomed into the family after the devastation of our many recent wars. One such distant cousin arrives with the Manderlys, a family always dedicated to the Stark cause. The Manderly sons were both killed during the War of the Five Kings, and the ever growing Lord Manderly at my coronation appeared to be a sadder man than the one who would visit when my father and mother still presided over Winterfell. I’m anxious to see if he has improved spirits as I wait for his retinue to arrive the afternoon before the official start of the week-long thanksgiving fete. They are the last family to arrive, as the Tallharts, Pooles, Glovers, and Cerwyns have all arrived already. 

I choose to wear one of my practical grey daily dresses to greet visitors, only with the addition of my crown that I usually only wear during official events. Nella stands behind me alongside Pod. When the Manderly retinue is announced from the ramparts, I smooth down the front of my skirts and then stand as straight as I can muster against the brisk wind that still howls through the castle and surrounding lands. The new Manderly heir, Thyo, arrives as proud as any lifelong future lord. He gallops his horse into the courtyard ahead of his great-uncle’s carriage, eyeing the castle as though sizing it up. His blond hair glints softly in the bright sunlight and I can tell he is well built, with arms that show his training in the yard. However, I’m immediately put off by his cocky behavior as he swings off his horse, throws the reins to a nearby groomsboy, and lazily walks up to kneel to me. He grabs my hand before it is offered to kiss it and stands without being given permission. I usually am on my toes when it comes to courtly customs, but I find myself lost for words. 

“The castle rebuilding is going well, Your Highness,” he tells me casually, his grey-blue eyes under an arched eyebrow revealing he doesn’t mean it sincerely. 

“It’s Your Grace,” Nella tells him sharply from behind me. “And you should wait to speak until you are spoken to by the Queen.”

“Ah, if it isn’t little Lady Nelly Cerwyn. I remember when you were in training skirts and clung to your nanny’s legs,” he retorts. 

“And I remember when you barely had a last name and were trailing behind the boys who shoveled the horses’ shit,” she flies back at him. 

“Enough,” I interrupt them and shoot Nella a warning glance. Pod looks like he’s ready either to run away or burst into laughter. I turn back to Lord Thyo. “Welcome to Winterfell, Lord Thyo. I hope you have a pleasurable stay.”

“I intend to, Your Grace,” he sneers in Nella’s direction. 

“Thyo!” Lord Manderly climbs down the added-on steps from his carriage. He carries himself tall and straight despite his girth, and his usually merry eyes are glaring at his great-nephew. “Is this the first impression you wish to give our new Queen?” He shakes his head in disgust and then turns to me, falling on a heavy knee with a bowed head. I gesture with my hand to allow him to rise with the assistance of his ever-present servants. 

“Welcome back to Winterfell, Lord Manderly,” I tell him in a hopefully gracious voice, although my tone comes off strained with anger. 

“Thank you, Your Grace. It is a joy to be back, and I look forward to spending time with our new monarch.” 

“I look forward to it too, my lord. Please, allow my personal maid Jeyne to show you to your guest rooms. We will all gather tomorrow evening for the opening feast, at which we can catch up as you’ll have had some time to rest.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” both he and Thyo bow to me and then turn to follow Jeyne, who is nodding at something Nella just whispered into her ear. 

As they walk away, I grab Nella’s arm. “What did you tell Jeyne?” 

“To tell me if Thyo touches her. I remember him from when I was a child and he was always so awful to me, even though he wasn’t allowed to sit with us and his cousins during suppers and feasts.”

“Regardless, if you speak to a guest like that again I will have to prevent you from greeting them with me. I cannot have my own lady-in-waiting being rude to our guests, especially in front of me. It would make it appear I condone that behavior.”

“But he was terrible to you, Your Grace!”

“Aye, he w-was,” Pod speaks up from behind Nella’s defensive stance before I can respond to her. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself against this minor mutiny, however loyal it may be. 

“Again, regardless, we do not talk to our newly sworn lords that way. My reign is young, and we cannot let those who would envy a throne view it as unstable or disrespectful. We must graciously welcome every Northern man and woman into Winterfell to sow respect and loyalty. We must make them love us, not fear or resent us.”

Both knight and lady look sullen at the scolding I just whispered to them. We walk back silently to my chambers and I dismiss Nella to her own bedroom to get some rest before our exhausting week ahead. I am looking forward to the quiet that will descend the castle once the week is over, even though before it’s started I’ve already had to play a mediator. 

Pod remains quieter than usual as I busy myself in the solar with other letters and matters of running the castle before dinner is brought. I watch him open and close his right hand into a fist as his jaw grinds away. It’s distracting and I don’t want him to be experiencing whatever distress is happening. 

“Ser Pod, what is the matter?” I finally break the tension. He looks up, surprised at my addressing him. “You keep clenching your fists and I worry for your teeth surviving the onslaught.”

“I-I am – it’s nothing, Your Grace.”

I look to the ceiling, count five blocks of stone before responding. “Something is the matter, Ser Pod, and I command you to discuss it with me.” It’s harsher than I would like, but I need to know what could possibly be distressing him in such a way. 

“I don’t like how he spoke to you, Your Grace. It reminded me of how Joffrey would speak to you.” I suck in my breath and my gut feels like it’s been punched. “I-I’m sorry, Y-Your Grace, I d-didn’t mean to u-upset you,” Pod starts to panic, I guess reading whatever emotion has shown on my face. I take a deep breath, steady the whirl of thoughts and emotions that have emerged. 

“You haven’t, Pod, I was just surprised.” I take another deep breath. “We’ve met Lord Thyo once, we shouldn’t make broad assumptions like he is Joffrey reincarnate quite yet.” I try a small smile to let him know it’s okay, I’m okay – I’m always okay. He gives a small nod to acquiesce, and then fixes his gaze to the door in front of me. Somehow I feel as though I’ve disappointed him, and even though I was shaken by the lord’s behavior, I don’t want to assume every man with too much confidence is as evil as Joffrey was. I turn back to my work, trying to calm my thoughts down enough to focus on cattle and sheep numbers in the Gift and not on the rolling emotions I can feel coming from my usually stoic knight at my side.   
Nella spends two hours braiding my hair the next day before the feast. It is exhausting, yet worth the effort on both of our parts. She has come up with a style I’ve never worn nor seen before – small braids in rows along my hairline peak into a larger braid at the crown of my head, mimicking a crown higher than the one I wear. Two long tendrils of hair frame my cheek bones and face, curled into submission by an ambitious Nella using a warmed metal rod she goaded the blacksmith to give her. My direwolf crown sits along my forehead and the heads of the wolves rise just above the smaller braids along my hairline. We complete the regal look with a strikingly white gown trimmed with grey fur and grey embroidery that we’ve worked on restlessly in the past month. The stitches run from the tops of my bell sleeves, up my shoulders, to crest at the nape of my neck and resemble weir wood tree branches. There are also glints of red rubies among the “branches.” The neckline comes up to my chin, and the fabric remains smooth over my torso, then billows out into a wide and flowy skirt that takes up several feet of space. It is a huge dress that I first objected to, but was reminded by Nella that this is the first large event hosted by the new Queen in the North, and I should cut an intimidating appearance. 

Once the lords and ladies are settled into the Great Hall, I enter dramatically from the back and walk along the tables to the raised platform at the front of the hall. It’s long enough to sit the lords from the major houses and myself. Pod and Nella will eat at a table just below the dais where they will be easily accessible should I need their services. Otherwise, I am expected to entertain the lords on my own. 

Before we begin to eat, the serving maids ensure everyone has their goblets filled with the best wine we could buy from Dorne. I stand from my seat, causing a hush to fall from the hall. My dress seems to glow from the fire and torches spread around the hall, and it would be difficult to miss the tall, red-haired, white-clad Queen demanding everyone’s attentions. 

“My sworn lords and ladies, their families, my faithful servants, dear friends, and all gathered here this eve, I thank you for your presence,” I start my rehearsed speech. “Our numbers may be smaller than they were in past times, but we remain strong in our bonds to the North and to the Stark family. Your sacrifices to bring us our independence and our lives in the wars against the South and the dead do not go forgotten in this new reign, and my hope is to honor all of our lost one’s in the years to come. But today we focus not on our difficult pasts, but on our hopeful futures. We thank those who fought with my brother, King Robb, my half-brother, King Jon, and for me. We thank the women who supported the men at war, we thank the children for the losses they experienced, and we thank the old gods for hearing our prayers and bringing us comfort in times of pain. I thank you all gathered here for your loyalty, your allegiance, and your faith. I intend to always remember what you have given and what you give to my reign and to honor that in all the years that I reign in Winterfell. To the North!” I raise my goblet and am joined by many shouting, “To the North!” 

We drink our fill and before I take my seat, I hear, “To the Queen in the North! Long may she reign!” And another chorus of voices take on repeating the cheer. I feel my face redden as I bow my head in gratitude, before beckoning the lords at my side to take their seats so we can begin the feast. 

Food comes out in waves, first small bites of pastries and cheese, then larger servings of fowl and deer and fish. I tried to have the cooks honor the foods common to the vast reaches of the North and I believe they have delivered successfully. Not long after the second course is served, however, my attention is pulled away from the servings presented to me first by Lord Cerywn sitting at my right. 

“Your Grace, I hope you have come to enjoy having my daughter as a lady-in-waiting. It is a great honor to our house that you chose her as your first lady,” he tells me with a small bow of his head. 

“Lord Cerywn, Lady Nella brings me such happiness, I too am grateful she is my first lady-in-waiting.” 

“I must ask you, Your Grace, if she and you are willing, may she visit with her family after this week? I know her mother would appreciate spending time with her before she is busy aiding you with your wedding and future heirs.”

I almost choke on the piece of fish I had just taken a bite of. Composing myself, I take a sip of wine and nod to Lord Cerywn. “Of course she may visit, that would not be an issue.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Lord Manderly on my left joins the conversation. “Yes, Your Grace, it would be good time to start thinking about a suitable husband. The North will need an heir to sustain its claim to independence.”

A “hear, hear” comes gently from Lords Poole and Tallhart, who also appear to be listening in to everything being said. 

“My lords, my brother is King of the Six Kingdoms. He is young, and I do not fear an invasion led by my kin who relinquished the North by his own volition.” My palms are starting to sweat and I hide them under the table, wringing a handkerchief that was stored in my sleeve. 

“Yes, but a husband will help solidify your rule.”

“But he must be a Northerner-“

“There are eligible men in other parts of the world who can bring the North many benefits with a marriage. A Dornishman would certainly help improve the meager trade we have started only with the Wildlings so far.”

“Aye, but what non-Northerner will accept a position as king consort and not a title of king himself? A Northerner will have no other motivations to marrying our queen besides providing a stable North to rule over us all.”

“And you will need a navy, my Queen,” Lord Manderly says quietly, only so I can hear. I look into his eyes and a mischievous look has taken them over. 

The arguing continues and I find myself unable to manage all five lords into quiet submission. I can only sit there, in quiet horror, at the plans these men are making for me. I want to find strength to tell them to stop talking immediately, but I feel as powerless and small as I did when the great lords of the South debated what to do with me after my engagement to Joffrey ended. My eyes seek out Nella, who is sitting with her siblings and laughing without a care in the world. Only after I scan the entire room do my eyes find Pod’s, and he is still seated at the small table in front of me. He looks pained, as though he can read my every thought and feel my every shortened breath and tightening chest. His warm brown eyes are unwavering as they look into mine, and somehow I find the strength to finally speak up. 

“My lords! Please, settle yourselves!” I half-shout over the clamor. In addition to their own debate, the Great Hall has seemed to shrink amidst the increasing volume of its drunk inhabitants. The lords finally quiet and their eyes look to me for further direction. “This is not the place or time to discuss a matter of this importance. We will take it up during this visit when the six of us can have a calm, organized discussion. Tonight is a time for celebration, not political gameplay. Please, enjoy the wines and ales and foods being served and the company of our Northern people and leave the politics for another day.” 

Subdued, the men return to their food and discussion of the rebuilding they themselves have taken on at their own castles. I make it through two more rounds of food, hoping a lemon cake will show itself, before I feel like the room is closing in on me. I seek out Pod with my eyes again, and although he appears to have eaten some, he is still watching our high table. I nod toward the door when we make eye contact and he gives me a nod. Excusing myself, I bid goodnight to the lords and walk down the dais steps and into the small hall that borders the Great Hall. A few servants mill about, waiting to either bring out more dishes or be called upon another task. I ask one to find me a bottle or two of wine and with wide eyes the young woman runs down the hall to the small cellar and presents me with two of the finest Dornish wines. I thank her and exit through the small door in the hall. 

Pod waits for me under the tree, his breath coming out in visible puffs in front of his face. He rubs his hands, showing his increased comfort around other Northerners. When he sees me, his face relaxes into a small smile. I return it and hold up the two bottles. “Please tell me you’re willing to share these with me.” 

“I-I will, Queen Sansa.”

“Good. Let’s go into the godswood, there’s a tree that sits over a hot spring that is always warm, regardless of the season.” 

We stomp over roots and dips in the forest. I have to hold my dress up from the dirt at times, although I know it’s probably a lost cause, and when I do, Pod steadies me with a gentle hand to the elbow. I’m not sure if any man in my life besides my father and brothers ever handled me with quite so much care, even if they were not trying to harm me. 

We settle on a fallen trunk made into a branch and I pop the wax seal off the top of both bottles. I hand him one, tap mine against his, and then take a sip right from the bottle. It’s something I hadn’t done since Arya and I were first reunited in Winterfell and she insisted we get drunk in order to discuss what had transpired in our lives from the day our father was executed and her arriving in my chambers unexpectedly years later. 

“Y-your Grace?”

“Ser Pod, it is incredible how you can express so much in just two words to me. Please don’t worry about this behavior, sometimes I want to feel like I can be a normal person who can indulge in a little drink from time to time. I know you drank from the bottle before with Lord Tyrion, so don’t act like this is your first time either.”

He sputters a laugh and takes a large drink from his own bottle. “It’s only… this is good. Wine, I mean, Your Grace. It’s odd t-to drink it straight from the b-bottle.”

“You forget, Ser Pod, even though I occasionally act like smallfolk, I am still a queen,” I give him a teasing smile and a small wink as I take a dainty sip from my bottle. His eyebrow arches at the feebleness of the sip, so I take a few more less ladylike ones to match his own. And soon enough, we are rather tipsy and are laughing at what are probably unfunny jokes to people not half a bottle deep into their drink. 

“Pod, how much will I regret this in the morning?”

“V-very much, Your Grace. Y-you’ll probably have a h-headache the Maiden would feel, wherever she is.” We laugh like this is a mummers play that uses puppets with mallets to entertain children. 

“You do seem to be an expert at drinking. Again, I don’t know why I’m surprised given my former husband’s proclivities.” 

“H-he did encourage us to d-drink, Lord Tyrion. He once gifted Lord Bronn and I ale that the mercenaries in Essos drink before battle, and it l-led to a t-terrible sickness the next day. I threw the r-rest of it into the Blackwater B-Bay.” 

“Well, let’s not have a reprisal of that experience, Ser Pod. Please, escort me back to my room. It’s time to be a queen again.”

He nods and stands, stretching his long arms above his head. I notice that he’s not soft like I always imagined, perhaps unfairly, but instead his arms and shoulders are well shaped and appear to be hard to the touch. His leather armor lifts slightly and I glimpse a small strip of his stomach, flat and muscled as well. Blushing, I turn my head away and take a deep breath. It’s just the drink, I reassure myself. 

After I have composed myself, he extends a hand to help me stand, and then offers me his arm to lean on as we take the treacherous walk back to the castle. Nella will be furious with me for ruining the bottom of my dress, but she will know who in the castle can make it as good as new. Besides, when she discovers I drank to excess in the godswood, she’ll be more proud of me than furious. 

At my bedchamber door, Ser Pod gives me a deep bow and finally lets his guiding arm rest. I immediately miss the warmth of it, but again have to remind myself it’s the cold of the castle mixing with the drink causing me to be chilled. My maid, Jeyne, ever ready to serve helps me into the bedroom without much of a fuss. 

“Goodnight, Ser Pod, try to not be too ill tomorrow when you’re back on duty.” 

He laughs and bows his head and waits for the door to shut before walking slowly away down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the kudos and the feedback left previously!


	4. Chapter Four

“My lords, we have come to an agreement, then,” I announce over the mostly genial discussion occurring around me. “In six months’ time I will begin a royal tour of the North, visiting your homes along the way. At the end of my tour, I will announce my decision whether to take a husband and who he shall be. Between now and then, Winterfell will hold a royal tournament to allow suitors to name themselves and be known to me.” My eyes find Pod’s across the room, his face set in a hard grimace. My own countenance is neutral as I’ve practiced, despite the scream welling in my chest.

Over the week, my liege lords insisted we discuss the matter of my engagement. I was able to put off the conversation until today, their last day in Winterfell. Tonight we shall hold our last feast, thank the gods, and tomorrow the families shall all depart to their respective homes. I had hoped to make it through the week without needing to make this decision, but Lord Manderly especially insisted I hold this meeting, and his tenacity brought us to the library today. 

The lords nod at me with large smiles, each counting up the distant cousins and long lost nephews to send to the tourney, I’m sure. I give a forced smile and then stand and the rest of the men stand along with me. As I leave the room to prepare for the final feast, Pod walks two steps behind me as usual. 

“Let’s go to the Glass Gardens before I return to my chambers, Ser Pod.” We walk across the yard and past the Broken Tower to the walled-off area containing the beautiful Glass Gardens: rooms built with glass to allow us to grow necessary provisions even during the coldest of winters. All of our crops were destroyed during the Battle of the Long Night, and the gardeners had been working relentlessly to return the rows of plants to their former glory ever since. It’s a peaceful place if not always quiet. There’s a trickle of water always feeding a pool in the center of the gardens that allows for easy watering access. A heavy, wet air permeates the rooms making anyone in heavy northern clothing sweat almost immediately once you enter. But being surrounded by green and warmth and hope can bring a peace different from the one I feel in the godswood. After that meeting, I needed hope – the thoughts needing to be dissected can wait until I find time for the godswood on the morrow.

I settle onto a bench and gesture Pod to sit next to me, to which he obliges. Ever since our night of drunken amusement he seems much more comfortable around me, though he is still a stumbletongue. I appreciate the change in demeanor all the same. 

“I don’t want to be married, Ser Pod. Not so soon,” I finally break the silence. 

“No, Your Grace.”

“I’ve been betrothed thrice and married twice, and yet I’m still so young. Their insistence-” I swallow a rising anger, “Their insistence for my marriage is only for their own gain, not my own. They try to frame it as something I need – a husband for protection, children for… children for what? My own entertainment? I am in charge of a realm. That is my entertainment. That demands my urgent attention. There can be time for heirs another day.”

“Aye, Your Grace. It is for the lords’ benefit,” Pod mumbles. 

“What do you know, Ser Pod?” I ask him suspiciously as a redness blots his face. 

“I o-only heard what the other g-guards were saying, Q-queen Sansa.” I watch him and wait. “T-they think their l-lords are t-trying to assert their own p-power onto y-your r-rule. While they are l-loyal to a S-stark rule, they think a w-woman would rule b-better with a man. By her side, I mean.” He looks at his feet the entire time he tells me this and I realize he must be terrified.

I put my hand on his arm and his head jerks up at me. “Do you think that’s true, Pod?” I ask quietly. 

“Of course not, Your Grace,” he doesn’t stumble his words when he says this. 

“Me neither. Besides, relationships and love only cloud judgment and the opposite, cruelty, makes one’s world so small.” 

“Do you e-ever want to m-marry, Your Grace?” 

I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I have much of a choice if there’s to be stability in the North. I know I need to, for heirs. There could be benefits, but so far marriage has led to more problems for me than solutions.”

He thinks for a moment while I study his face. “You could be like the Stark maid, Lord Brandon’s daughter, whose heir was f-fathered by Bael the Bard and all the p-people accepted the babe as a t-trueborn Stark.” 

“I can’t tell if you’re joking, Ser Pod.” 

“Only s-slightly, Your Grace. But it is a thought, p-perhaps.” 

“Aye, except there’s still the issue of finding a man to sire these bastard trueborn heirs.” Pod begins to blush furiously at the turn of the conversation, and I find myself feeling amused by his discomfort. “I appreciate the idea all the same. I’m hoping there’s a true and noble man in the world for me, but it will have to be seen. And I thank you for helping me feel better about today’s terrible meeting.” 

Pod goes to put his hand on mine still resting on his arm, but stops abruptly as a young serving girl comes running into the Glass Gardens. I take my hand off him and regard the girl as she pants slightly at her effort. 

“Yes, little one?” 

“Y-Your Grace,” she stumbles out between breaths. “A raven brought this for you,” she hands me a sealed scroll, “and Maester Crannen wanted me to bring it to you.” 

“Thank you,” I take the scroll from her and after eyeing up Pod sitting casually beside me, she runs back out of the garden. 

“It looks like it’s from Moat Cailin,” I say more to myself than to Pod. Breaking the seal leads to a satisfying pop and I unroll the tightly wound scroll to reveal Brienne’s handwriting. “Ah, it’s from Ser Brienne… she says she will be here in the week… and to thank you, Podrick, for your service in her stead.” Pod nods at the mention of his name and I can see his face has returned to the same hardness as it wore in the meeting. “With her return, Ser Pod, you’ll be able to decide what you want to do with yourself. I expect to hear your decision once Ser Brienne is back.” 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Pod finally squeaks out after watching the water trickle from the pond for a few moments. He follows my lead as I stand and return to my chambers, wondering what’s in store for the young knight once his time here is ended. 

The night’s feast is a pleasant affair, the lords’ content with our earlier meeting. I sit through the rowdy conversations, various songs sung by most of the Great Hall, someone plucking at a harp, and a surly Nella at my side. 

“I don’t want to go to my father’s castle, I want to stay here with you and see the tournament,” she told me through gritted teeth earlier. Unable to convince her it would be good to visit home, I allow her to sit in her misery. Both of us are being forced into duty by men, and I only wish I could pout alongside her. 

The next day, watching the carts, people, horses, and carriages leave Winterfell’s courtyard in an almost never ending line, relief floods my chest. I spend time in the godswood, talking out loud about the engagement in case Bran needs to hear about it, and praying silently for answers or a way out of it. The months stretching ahead of the tour bring me both happiness at knowing it will be a time of peace and dread at its closure. Nella left with her family and Pod probably leaving soon after Brienne’s return are thoughts that adds a pang of sadness to my heart as I consider the day. 

Pod had joined me in the godswood, but hung back away from the heart tree as I sat on the bench made from an ancient trunk that sits in front of it. I assume it’s due to his own thoughts, or perhaps not feeling welcome in such a weighty part of the godswood. Some southerners never feel at home here; my own mother struggled with it even once her children were born and she was considered as a true Northern lady. 

My ears prickle at the sound of footsteps crunching on the leaves and I’m surprised to see Pod returning from his own thoughts and privacy. “Your Grace, I w-would like to speak to you about… about my f-future,” he stumbles out. 

“Of course, Ser Pod, although I do want to remind you that you still have several days to officially make a decision.”

“I’ve m-made my decision, Your Grace,” he falls onto one knee in front of me. “I wish to serve you, as a knight sworn to you and your protection.” At the end of his declaration, his eyes meet mine and I see hard determination. 

“You’re completely sure, Pod?” I whisper to him, my heart filling with hope at the thought of his staying. 

“Yes, my Queen,” words that ooze with confidence, something I had not yet heard from him before. 

I stand and move in front of him. He starts the oath by taking my hand, “My Queen, I am yours. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new.” 

Staring into this deep brown eyes, I complete the oath: “And I vow, that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table, and a pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise.” He stands and bows his head to me, then looks at the heart tree. As he closes his eyes in seeming reverence or prayer or promising something to himself, I squeeze his hands, still holding mine.

“I’m so honored, Pod,” I whisper to him and his eyes open again. We smile at each other and only look away when nearby a large songbird begins to sing.

Days later, I greet Brienne in the courtyard as she dismounts her horse. She kneels to me and I motion for her to rise. As she does, I pull her into a hug. “Welcome back, Ser Brienne.”

“It’s good to be back, Queen Sansa. I missed the North, something I never thought I would say.”

“I’m sure, but it has a way of growing on you.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“I am eager to hear all about your time spent in the Southern capital, but I know you must settle and rest. Would you join me for dinner in my solar tonight?”

“Of course, Your Grace. Thank you for the invitation.” 

We part ways, the tall blond knight strolling confidently through the courtyard. I wonder at her state of heart, and whether the castle brings her both joy and misery. She and the Kingslayer became close here, I know, and his decision to die with Cersei during the Battle of King’s Landing devastated Brienne. Pod and I had spent weeks trying to cheer her up and eventually decided it was best to allow her to grieve in her own way, without our interference. And then, after the Dragon Queen was slayed by my half-brother and he was banished north of the Wall, she gave me the same space to mourn the loss of him. 

Dinner is usually a quieter affair with Brienne, as she does not always appreciate mindless chatter. In the time since Pod declared his intentions to serve me, however, he has been dining with me and we found talking amongst ourselves to be easier than it was before. His oath gave him confidence, and I suspect it’s due to his lifelong dream of becoming a great knight. All great knights have ladies to serve faithfully, and now Pod can truly say he does so. We tend to discuss any gossip we have heard throughout the day, even when we heard it at the same time, and sometimes we even discuss more abstract matters and thoughts, as well as our favorite songs and stories of lore. When the three of us sit for dinner this night, Brienne appears surprised at the casualness between Pod and I.

“Ser Podrick, I believe before Ser Brienne shares her own news from the South, we should share ours.” Brienne’s eyes widen, and my mind races trying to imagine what she herself is imagining. 

“Yes, my Queen.” Pod turns to Brienne, the flaming torches reflecting in his wide eyes. “I have decided to serve Queen Sansa dutifully as a sworn knight.”

Brienne takes a sip of her ale and nods slowly. “And you shall serve her well. Queen Sansa, you could not have chosen a more loyal or deserving knight.”

I smile at her and Pod practically beams from his seat while staring at his plate. “I have the two most deserving knights in all the kingdoms of Westeros, if you ask me.” 

After the shock wears off, Brienne begins to share with us what has transpired in the Six Kingdoms since we last bid her goodbye. Bran has come into his role of king very naturally, despite his awkward tendencies to speak calmly about the past or future. Tyrion sends his warmest regards, along with a barrel of wine that Brienne carried back with her. Lord Davos has begun building a new fleet of ships, using Storm’s End and Dragonstone as the home ports. 

“And your sister, Princess Arya, wrote to King Bran.” 

At this, it is my turn to be shocked. “Arya?”

“Yes, Your Grace, she wrote to Bran and mentioned that she had found an island that uses owls to send letters instead of ravens. She only was able to send off one letter, however, and knew he would be able to convey her wishes to you more easily than you to him.”

Tears spring to my eyes. “So she’s safe? She’s okay?”

Brienne nods, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Pod smile at me, relief showing in his face, as it probably does in mine. 

“Thank the gods,” I say and take a sip of wine. “I do wish I could hear from her though.” 

“Perhaps you will soon, my Queen,” Pod says reassuringly, causing Brienne to stare at us again. It happens several times over the course of the night and while normally I would try to prevent receiving her curious stares, tonight I am too relieved and too content to care. 

We decide that Pod will remain my personal guard, reporting to Brienne each day with any observations and insight into what is needed to maintain my safety. Brienne will continue training him and other men in Winterfell and will manage all other security matters, including planning our tour around the North. My focus for the next month or so becomes the tournament we are hosting for the eligible suitors who will vie for my hand. Despite my dread at meeting these men and having to graciously host them, I am excited to watch jousting again for the first time since my early days in King’s Landing. Land is set aside to the east of the castle compound for the tracks and seating, in addition to a round plot to be used for the sword fighting tournament. There are men coming from Dorne, Essos, and the North; no men from the other five kingdoms in Westeros have written to say they will be participating. Guest rooms must be prepared, food store inventories taken and added to, budgets to be made, and throughout it all, I must maintain my sanity. 

I’m working in the solar one day when another batch of letters are delivered by Maester Crannen. I groan when I see that most of them are from my liege lords or suitors, all regarding the topic of marriage. Pod’s eyebrows jump up when he hears me. 

“Pod, I am half ready to tear my hear out at these letters.”

“More about marriage, my Queen?” 

I can’t help but smile slightly at his new way to address me. It somehow seems less formal than “Your Grace,” or even “Queen Sansa.” “Yes, Pod, and it is taking all my might to not respond with fury.”

“’Courtesy is a lady’s armor,’” Pod muses out loud. I’m frozen by the memory of that phrase, something I would tell Arya constantly as children and something I still tell myself in moments of frustration. 

“Where did you hear that from?” 

Pod’s face turns red as it does anytime I scrutinize something he says or does. “I once heard you tell it to… to your m-maid… Shae.” He whispers her name. 

I put my head in my hands and breathe out deeply when I hear her name. Of course. I told her everything, every silly little thought that came out of my head. “It’s been too long since I’ve thought of her, Pod. I feel awful.” We both sit in silence, staring at our feet. 

“She meant a lot to you.” 

“Yes, she really did.” We look at each other across the room and I beckon him to sit at the desk next to me. I stand and get the small store of wine I keep in a cabinet, just in case I unexpectedly need to host someone… or, now, it seems to dull the pain of past memories. “And she deserved better. Everything that happened after I left King’s Landing, I heard in bits and pieces. I found out about Tyrion’s escape after his trial before I found out that he had killed Shae.” 

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard it,” Pod’s voice is leaden with sadness. “It’s hard to reconcile Lord Tyrion from before and after that night to what he did.”

“So much has happened since, not that that excuses it. But threats from those beyond the grave and those trying to exert their rule will warp everyone’s understandings of the past. And it is possible he’s atoned, or atoning, for it. But you’re right. Too often we too easily forgive those who have done terrible deeds.” 

“Do you miss your brother, my Queen?” I know he’s referring to Jon. I give a nod, unable to speak over the tears in my throat over my lost maid and my lost brother. “He may come back one day, maybe, my lady?”

“I’m not sure, Pod. He was banished and I’m not sure I have the standing to challenge that decision made by another ruler yet. Maybe one day… maybe once everything has settled more and people are able to overlook his terrible deed like we do Tyrion.” 

We sit in silence again, taking small sips of the wine. It tastes like nothing in my mouth, but I appreciate the burn of the alcohol as it travels down my throat. 

“Pod, I’ve never asked about your family. Do you miss them?”

Now it’s his turn to have teary eyes, and I can’t help but grab his hand as a tear slips down his cheek. My heart aches for the sadness he carries with him, a sadness I never once until today thought to ask about. 

“M-my family is not really my family, my Queen.” He takes a swallow of wine and then looks me in the eyes. “My father died during the Greyjoy Rebellion.” I flinch, thinking about how both of our families’ fates were tied up with the rebellion after the war. “And my mother left once she found out, running away with a man in the village. We didn’t have money or status, so no one really thought twice about it.”

“Oh, Pod, I never knew-“

“It’s okay, my Queen. I was still young, and my uncle Cedric took me in. That’s how I ended up in King’s Landing working for the kitchens. He was trying to work his way up in the stables and so he was able to secure me some work in a respectable part of the castle. Something other than what the other Payne cousin did.”

“Is that how you were able to always get me lemon cakes?” I hope the gentle teasing comforts him, and distracts me from the memories of the man who took my father’s head.

“Yes, it was,” he gives me a small smile. “The cook was still there when I came to work for Lord Tyrion and when you married him. She taught me to read and write, and made sure I was always fed and safe.”

“I thank her, wherever she is now, for that. I’m glad you’re here Pod, and I hope you’ve found the family you deserved in your journeys.”

“I used to think it was Tyrion and Bronn, and I’ll always be grateful for their company and protection and help, but it was a shallow kind of family with them. It’s not now. With you. I mean, and with Brienne.” 

I smile at him and take his hands again. “I’m glad we’re your kind of family, Pod, as you have brought me great comfort in the loss of my own.”

“I am glad for that, my lady.”

Suddenly, I remember the last jousting tournament I had seen, with Loras Tyrell bedecked in his family’s flower symbol. “Pod, would you… would you want to wear the Stark direwolf emblem for the tournament?” I feel almost shy in asking him. 

Another pink flush covers his face. “I would be honored, my Queen.” 

“Good.” I squeeze his hand and lean into his shoulder, just a bit. “I will be honored to have you wear my favor.”


	5. Chapter Five

In Nella’s absence, my two new ladies-in-waiting arrive to Winterfell. Isybelle Tallhart and Alienor Poole are kind, honest, and frank in a way that would make most ladies blush. Luckily for them, and me, we all get along fine. We walk in the godswood and take private dinners together, they are fun to talk to and make daily chores bearable. 

And yet, I find myself wanting to spend my free time with my knight more than my ladies. Most mornings the four of us walk around the castle, but sometimes I insist that just Pod and I take the turn through the courtyard and into the godswood, sometimes adding a walk amongst the Glass Garden plants. He always obliges with a smile. A few weeks after Isybelle and Alienor arrived, I slipped and fell in the godswood, twisting my ankle and making it difficult to walk for a week. Pod started offering his arm to me to help me walk no matter where we were – going to the Great Hall for dinner, to the library to look up old records, to the maester’s tower to discuss important management matters. I continued the practice even after my ankle had healed fully. We become a constant in Winterfell, the Red Wolf Queen and her knight, and I find myself growing prouder at the thought each day. 

On the morning before the suitors are set to arrive, I ask Alienor and Isybelle to remain back for the walk. I can’t handle idle chatter today, although it usually brings me a welcome distraction. They are tasked with setting out my gowns for the welcoming feast and the opening tournament day and making sure that all the threads are neat and that they are brushed out to satisfaction. I allowed them to make new dresses for themselves in the month that they have been here to wear to the tournament, and I myself had also been busy at work when we sewed in the evening, working on a special gift. 

“Good morning, Ser Pod,” I greet him when I open the door to my bedchambers. I tuck a bag holding the said special gift to my side once I am in the hallway.

“Morning, my Queen,” with a smile, he holds out his arm and I take it gladly, smiling at him as we start walking down the hallway. We’re quiet as we walk to the godswood, commenting briefly on things that still need to be tended to in the castle before the next day. We approach the heart tree, looking sadder than angry today, and take our usual seats at its bench. From the bag I carried with me, I pull out a small parcel, cloth wrapped in twine. 

“Pod,” in private, I have decided to use only our first names, although Pod has not yet agreed to call me by my name, “I have something for you.” I present the parcel and am treated to a surprised look on his face, as well as his signature blush. 

“M-my Queen, I can’t accept this.” I roll my eyes at him and push the parcel into his hands, forcing him to take it. Sheepishly, he smiles at me and starts to undo the twine. A heavy cloak furls out from under his hands, revealing a Stark direwolf sigil embroidered in purple and yellow on its breast. He looks at me questioningly, and I nod, gently touching his shoulders so he twists and shows his back to me. I gently place the cloak over his shoulders, allowing him to clasp the ties at the neck. 

“Stand, let me see it on you properly.” He obliges and faces me, pride radiating on his face. 

“Purple and yellow, my Queen?”

“Yes, your family’s colors. This fits you well – and now you finally have a truly appropriate cloak as the sworn knight to the Stark Queen.” 

“I thank you, my Queen,” he bows his head to me and then rejoins me on the bench. A peaceful quiet settles around us, and I slip my arm through his as we watch birds hopping from branch to branch causing leaves to lightly float down to the forest floor. 

I sigh, and he glances at me down through his eyelashes. “I don’t want this moment to ever end, Pod. Tomorrow everything may change.” I place my head on his shoulder and nestle more into his side. It’s too familiar of touching, but it’s been ages since I’ve had comfort from physical contact. Probably when Arya was here was the last time I felt comfortable enough with someone to truly touch them in affectionate ways. His body tightens slight, then relaxes as he adjusts to the change. 

“What will I do once you’re married, whenever that will be, my Queen?” 

My eyebrows furrow. “You’ll stay with me, of course. Why do you ask such a thing?” 

“I only worry your new husband will not think my role as necessary, once he’s in your life.” 

I push myself further into this side, forcing his arm to wrap around my shoulders. My head in the crook of his neck, I tell him strongly that that will not be the case, that I will still be the queen and will need my sworn knight at my side for my protection. He nods, and then places his chin on top of my head. I close my eyes, savoring the feeling of safety, warmth. I feel his chest move up and down in tangent with his breathing, his heartbeat faintly beating against his chest and my shoulder. I silently thank the gods for that heartbeat and then try to quiet all my thinking to truly be in this moment. 

A twig snaps off in the distance and both of our heads jerk up, trying to find who has snuck upon us. In Pod’s panic, he pulls his arm away from my shoulder and I try to sit as straight as possible. Finally, I find the intruder. 

“Pod, it’s a squirrel,” I point him in the direction of the culprit. He blushes deeply and we both laugh, but the moment is broken and it is time to return to the bustle of reality back in the castle. 

The lords begin arriving early the next day, and again I find myself standing in the cold greeting them as happily as I can muster, Brienne and Pod at my sides. It is long and exhausting, and due to the jousting festivities starting in the morning, we must still gather at night for the welcoming feast. 

As soon as they are all greeted and shown to their rooms in the guest house, Alienor and Isybelle begin their work in making me look like an independent, yet eligible, queen. I am bathed using the finest oils from Highgarden, hair brushed until it is shining and dry, and Alienor even rubs some oils into my skin for fragrance and softness before we work on putting me into my dress. The creation was Nella’s idea – another snow white dress, but with a blood red underskirt that peeks out underneath the white skirt when I walk. I’ve embroidered two grey silken direwolves on the back, facing each other from my shoulders. The dress is tight – so tight that Isybelle must sew the final seam in the back after it is put on me. I wanted to portray myself as someone who cannot be easily breached. 

Isybelle works on my hair while Alienor sits and watches, trying to learn. We are braiding my hair in high braids again, mirroring the tightness of my dress. It takes some time and Isybelle’s face is scrunched up in deep effort. Alienor begins to chat about the men arriving, and some of the ladies too, and about how excited she is to have the opportunity to dance with one of the men tonight. 

“Maybe Ser Podrick will find someone nice to dance with,” Isybelle says around a hair pin between her lips. The three of my attendants have become closer during our walks and dinners, these ladies-in-waiting not having as much umbrage against a southerner as Nella does. They don’t view him as an option for their own eventual marriages, however, a fact I put down to his lack of land and titles beyond knighthood.

My chest tightens but before I can dwell, Alienor is scoffing. “He won’t, don’t worry.” 

“Why is that?” I manage to contribute. Alienor and Isybelle look at each other with wide eyes, as if they had forgotten who they were gossiping in front of. 

“It’s only, Your Grace…” Isybelle begins but trails off, suddenly refocused on my hair. 

Alienor gives her an annoyed look. “Your Grace, it seems obvious to us, but we believe that the poor knight is in love with you.”

All I can do is stare at them. “T-that’s not true, Alienor. Why would you even think that?”

“He follows you around constantly. We see him watching you with more than a concern for your security at every event, even our private dinners he spends more time peeping at you than eating his food. He stayed in the North, which we obviously love, but to which he has no ties to it besides you. Ever since you’ve announced that you will declare a betrothal at the end of this royal tour, he walks around so sadly.”

“He must follow me around everywhere, he’s my sworn knight and guard. I’m sure you’re thinking he’s looking at me more than normal because you’ve come up with this intrigue. The North has been his primary home for years now, and I haven’t noticed a change in his demeanor since the thanksgiving week ceremonies,” I’m trying desperately to counter their every point. I had noticed him looking at me more, and I haven’t been able to put out of my mind our gentle embrace in the godswood yesterday. I just cannot bear to believe he’s in love with me. 

“He doesn’t act sad in front of you, Your Grace. He only acts sad every other moment of the day.”

“It’s as though he’s pining after you,” Isybelle adds. 

“He’s my sworn knight, he would be acting this way toward any other lady to which he’s sworn his sword to. I’m not unique,” I close the matter. Isybelle continues working on my hair in silence and Alienor busies herself with selecting a few pieces of jewelry for me to wear. 

Finally, I am ready. Ready to face the lords gathered to prove themselves as worthy suitors, ready to push the thoughts of Pod out of my head, and ready to start the fete so that it can be over.

Pod walks us down to the Great Hall, still offering his arm as my support. I catch Alienor and Isybelle give each other side-eyes, but choose to ignore it instead of indulge their fantasies. 

“You look radiant, my Queen,” Pod tells me under his breath. I bite back a smile. 

“You look well, too, Ser Pod.” He’s wearing the cloak I gave him over his new black leather armor. He cuts a striking figure, standing taller than me and at my compliment he stands straighter and, although he smiles and turns red, his eyes are fixed ahead of him determinedly. 

We all look regal as we walk through the courtyard and toward the Great Hall. Alienor and Isybelle’s dresses turned out to be beautifully constructed; Alienor’s silver gown has a low neckline and long sleeves, while Isybelle’s navy blue one dips in the back. They enter the Great Hall while I wait at the entrance with Pod. He lingers, knowing that he also should be finding his seat as the ushers try to regain calm over the packed room. 

“What is it, Pod?” 

“I only… may I speak freely, my Queen?”

“Please, always.”

“My Queen… please… please don’t make any decision you’re not completely sure of. I can’t… can’t imagine y-you being st-stuck in something that d-doesn’t bring you h-happiness.” His words come out fast and in one breath, and he can’t make eye contact with me. 

I squeeze his arm still entwined with mine. “Pod, look at me.” He does, and I see pain and fear. “I promise I won’t. Now, please go find your seat. I must enter alone.” 

He nods and bows, then rushes to his seat, still keeping his eyes down. Now a silence has taken over the hall and I take a deep breath to make my entrance. Steadying myself, I walk down the pathway between the tables and up toward the dais where I shall dine alone tonight. It’s a painstaking walk, and I feel crushed by the amount of eyes focused solely on me. But I can only see Pod’s, watching from his table with the other knights below the dais. He watches me steadily, unabashedly, and I must admit to myself that Alienor and Isybelle are right. Poor Pod, and poor me. 

I barely manage to eat, even once the dancing starts up and attention is taken off me. Luckily, tonight is not a night I am expected to entertain. Every feast after tonight, though, will be spent dining alone on the dais with one of the suitors. Knowing I will need to be on my toes every other night of this week, I do allow myself glass after glass of wine at this dinner. It helps bring the sharpness of the room and loudness of the guests into a haze, giving me a more relaxed demeanor. The Dornish sing songs together, beautiful melodies and voices adding to the clamor of the room. Some men in a corner are arguing, perhaps ready to take it outside to a fight. The Manderly and Poole parties laugh and joke with each other. Thyos is present, the suitor unsurprisingly sent from White Harbor, and I catch him multiple times just staring at me. It’s almost a feral stare, possessive even, though I tell myself I’m imagining it. 

Finally, I motion to Pod that I wish to be escorted to my chambers. Cries of “Goodnight, fair Queen!” Go up as I smile and try to walk steadily despite the drink. As soon as we enter the courtyard, I grasp Pod’s arm tightly, grateful for the sturdiness and unwavering foundation he provides me. I focus on my breathing, and try to ignore the amused face his is making at me. 

“Too much to drink, my Queen?” 

“Yes, Pod. My only night of indulgence, I’m afraid.” A darkness clouds his face as he must remember I am to dine with suitors the rest of the week. “I’m not happy about it either,” I mumble to him. His other hand finds mine on his occupied arm and gives it a squeeze. We continue our journey to my chambers in silence, taking in the crisp night with its millions of stars visible in a cloudless sky. 

I linger in front of my bedchamber, not wanting to say goodnight yet. Then I remember my dress, and how tightly I am sewn into it. Alienor and Isybelle were given the night off in order to enjoy the time spent with their families and friends visiting from their home castles. “Pod… I have a favor to ask you.”

“Yes, my Queen?” 

I sigh, fully expecting his protests and embarrassment. “I… I can’t get out of my dress by myself. I just need help undoing some of the seams.” I was right about the redness that comes to his cheeks, but he doesn’t protest, nor does he seem embarrassed. 

When we enter the chamber, I realize it’s Pod’s first time in my actual room. It’s a relatively unadorned room, with white fur rugs and some tapestries as decoration. He immediately goes to stoke my fledgling fire, bringing it back to life with relative ease. 

“You’re a natural in the North,” I tell him admiringly. 

“Thank you, my Queen.”

“Sansa,” I say firmly. “Please, when it’s just us, please call me Sansa. Almost no one calls me by my name anymore, and I want you to when it’s just us.”

He pushes his lips together in a fine line, then nods. With a quick breath he finally says my name, “Sansa.” It comes out like a prayer, and my hazy mind runs off with thoughts that should not be thoughts of a queen. I shake my head and then remember why he is in my room. I go and find the scissors amongst the other tools in my sewing kit and bring them to him, presenting them like a sword. 

“Your weapon, my knight,” I give him a teasing smile and he half rolls his eyes at me. 

“You’re very tipsy, Sansa,” he says not unkindly. 

“I am. Which is why I need your help – I’d probably cut the wrong part of the dress and my ladies would be furious with me for ruining it.” I direct him to cut the seam from my lower back to the nape of my neck. He places a hand lightly on my shoulder, steadying his other hand along the seam. His touch is fire to my skin, a fire I try to quell with thoughts of duty and reason. But the words of my ladies from earlier are louder than my attempts at control and I blush as I realize his hands are lingering at the nape of my neck. 

“Would you like me to help with your braids?” He asks quietly. I nod, and then his hands are surprisingly deft at undoing my braids, allowing my red hair to fall out over my shoulders and down my back, covering the underskirt the open seams have revealed. He seems to linger of some parts of my hair, brushing a shoulder or part of my back lightly. The moments pass by achingly, as I stand patient and anticipating every brief touch of his. Finally, my hair is out, shining in the firelight. I turn and look at him, and his eyes meet my own unwaveringly. 

“Pod, may I… may I hold your hand?” I ask shyly under my eyelashes. He nods and puts his right hand out for me. I hold it gently in my two hands, then flip it over and bring the palm to my lips, giving it a brief kiss. Then I use his hand to cup my face, and look at him again. Where I was expecting nervousness, maybe even shame, in his eyes, instead I see desire. Already out of my own control, I gently kiss his cheek, keeping my face close to his. We both linger for our moment, the heat from our bodies building between us. Then I hear music in the courtyard, and am brought back to my senses. I step back and give him a small smile, then bid him goodnight. I close the door, locking it, then sink to the floor, undone by my own yearning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for this and the next chapter (still to be written), to be one chapter - but I got carried away. I hope you enjoy the start of some more intimate Pod and Sansa moments!


	6. Chapter Six

The first two nights of the feast play out as terribly as I expected. The Poole suitor, who I dine with first, has as much interest in me as I do in him. The second night I dine with the Tallhart suitor, a young boy of about ten. He tells me all about his horse and how he’s learning to shoot archery while riding it. I nod along gamely, but am reminded of when I would speak to poor Tommen in King’s Landing when I first arrived. 

Lord Thyo courts me aggressively. Whenever I leave my chamber, he is waiting for me alongside Pod and insists he be the one to walk with me each morning. When he tries to dismiss Pod from the walks, I tell Pod he can ignore the Lord Thyo, as he serves me only. Thyo always sets his face in a harsh grimace when I do this, which makes his usually pleasing countenance quite ugly. Then, with a shake of his head, he gives me a brilliant smile and continues on as if nothing has happened. 

I can always feel Pod’s tension during these times, and as Thyo continues to try to corner me and take me away privately, I am always grateful of Pod’s presence. Even Brienne comments to me privately one day about her distrust of the Manderly lord. 

“He looks at you as if he owns you,” she whispered to me one morning as we watched the first jousting match of the day. I nod and smile to someone across the way when we make eye contact.

“Well, he doesn’t yet, does he?” I tell her casually, trying to quell the rising anxiety in my stomach. 

“Hopefully he never will,” Brienne mutters in an uncharacteristically contradictory way.

The jousting tournaments become my favorite diversion, just as I expected they would be. The men run at each other with such speed and might, it takes my breath away when I watch them collide and yet appear to be unharmed. Fortunately, so far, we have not had any terrible accidents that sometimes coincide with jousting. 

On the third day of the festivities, Pod is signed up for the sword fighting tournament. That morning when we go on our daily walk, I present him with my favor to wear. It is a small grey silk scarf, embroidered with a white direwolf. 

“I made it myself,” I tell him when I give it to him. He swells with pride, a smile on his face, as his ties it around his arm with my help. 

“I will wear it with the greatest honor, Sansa.” I melt a little at the use of my name, the habit he has taken on when we are alone together. 

Later in the day, I leave the third round of jousting to watch him compete. I am given the best seat to view the competition and Lord Manderly, who traveled with his nephew, sits next to me. 

“Your Grace, I hope you are enjoying the festivities.”

“I am, my lord, thank you.”

“And I also hope you’re honored by the attention you have been given by a certain Manderly lord.”

“Lord Thyo certainly is persistent, and very charming.”

Lord Manderly is quiet for moment, considering his next play. I suspect my curtness on the matter tells him how seriously I’ve considered his great-nephew’s pursuit. 

“Your Grace, I remind you that we are a new realm. We must fortify our shores, ensure that the pirates that accost our sea towns and the Greyjoys who hold you in no high favor are prevented from wreaking further havoc.” 

“What is the latest update on both of these threats?”

“Just last week, before we left, pirates stole a ship carrying grain and provisions from the Reach and Essos. My friends in the West have seen Greyjoy ships sulking along their shorelines. They haven’t made contact yet, friendly or otherwise, but the sight of the longships cause the people in their villages great fear.”

“I see. And I expect you are going to tell me next that the White Harbor fleet will best protect my kingdom from all threats from the sea, including those villages on the other side of Westeros?”

“Yes, Your Grace. If it pleases you, I have gathered the intelligence from the many harbors along our shores, as well as the letters I had received from your father from before the wars, discussing his plans on developing a larger fleet to combat the threats from the East.” 

I bite my lip at the mention of my father. Lord Manderly, perhaps unwittingly, has found my spot of weakness. If my father in all of his wisdom and care for his country had considered developing a larger navy, surely it could be what was needed for the realm now. 

“If I do not marry your great-nephew, Lord Manderly, are you implying that you would allow our realm to battle such threats without your White Harbor fleet?”

“Not at all, my Queen. I only suggest that by marrying my great-nephew, you would have an immediate and direct commander of the fleet, who is well versed in naval warfare and management. That is in addition to the overwhelming support that the smallfolk in these areas, the most populated areas, I must add, when their liege lord marries their beloved Red Wolf Queen.”

He knows he is right, and I know he is right. It breaks my heart to know this, and I blink back the tears that spring to my eyes when I see Pod come out into the fighting ring, my grey scarf still tied tightly to his right arm. He spars well against his opponent, a man from Dorne who is light on his feet, and I ache at the thought of having to tell him how my future will unfold. 

“I appreciate your insight on the matter, Lord Manderly,” I finally respond. “As declared earlier, no decisions or announcements will be made regarding any betrothal until the end of my royal tour. Please don’t take any silence as a rejection, and don’t take this conversation as a decree.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I appreciate your time and consideration,” with that, the great lord rises slowly from his seat, gives me a deep bow, and leaves me to myself and my thoughts. Just as he gives his final goodbye, I watch Pod defeat the Dornishman, and then immediately look to find me in the crowd. I smile broadly at him, and am grateful that from his distance, he cannot see the tears streaming down my face. 

That night, I dine with a Pentoshi magistrate, Nevio, during dinner. He has no lands, only an ungodly amount of money, and so my liege lords are torn between supporting him or their kin. He is incredibly drunk by the time food is served, and impossible to try to hold a conversation with, despite my rigorous courtly training. Eventually, I give up on small talk about his home or his values. His focus remains on his traveling companions, winking at them and me lewdly, laughing in a roaring bark that leaves wine spittle on the table in front of him. I try to keep my face as neutral as possible, but it is the most uncomfortable dining experience I’ve had yet. 

As the feast draws toward a close, the drunkenness of the room hits a new high of the week. I assume it’s due to the exhaustion of the tournament and the partying that takes place almost constantly. I have only had half a cup of wine, trying desperately to get through the night with complete self-control. The magistrate inches closer to me, the smell of a deep Dornish red palpable from two feet away. He smiles at me, teeth stained red, and looks my body up and down. I’m ready to slap him, but instead say nothing. 

“Does the Queen enjoy the attention of her suitors?” His voice is lightly accented, and heavily seeped in innuendo. 

“I only enjoy that so many people are committed to the happiness of my realm.” 

“Well, I’m committed to the happiness of her Grace…” The Pentoshi then places a hand on my shoulder, and before I can react he slides it down my arm and towards my heavily clothed breast. Before he can truly grab me, I try to jerk away, but it is Pod and Brienne who have the quicker reflexes. I had thought they were below the dais, but their fast acting tells me that the two knights had been moving closer to myself and the magistrate as they watched his actions unfold. Pod has wrapped his hand around his neck, pulling the man back violently off his chair. Brienne grabs his feet, and the two make their way towards the door. The Pentoshi travelers start yelling angrily at the ruckus, and Pod’s eyes connect with mine and have a look of “don’t move” –I must be safer on the dais than in the crowd below. The men begin to fight each other – the Northmen half drawing swords as the Pentoshi glare and yell back at them. I’m frozen, and begin shaking from the scene. 

As soon as Brienne has secured the Pentoshi magistrate in the courtyard, Pod comes running back to me and wraps me in his arms. I bury my head in his shoulder as he whispers to me, “I’m taking you to your rooms, stay as close to me as you can and I will protect your body with my own.” I clutch my arms around his waist and he uses his left arm to cover my shoulders, keeping his right out in case he needs to draw his sword against the chaos occurring around us. My maester and some sober lords’ knights try to control the room, and Brienne’s towering figure looms over the men as she walks toward the central culprits. 

Pod holds me tightly and guides me through the crowd, his metal armor a cool and reassuring touch against my skin. His eyes are flashing, alert, as he scans the path in front of us. We make it into the courtyard, where the Pentoshi magistrate is tied up expertly against a wooden pole. He cries out to me as we pass, and Pod’s grip retightens. I ignore the man’s pleas and we finally make it into the tower and up the stairs, past servants with wide eyes at their sobbing, shaking queen. 

Once we make it to my chambers, poor Jeyne is alarmed to find me in such a state. I’m shaking slightly at the night’s events, my makeup smeared across my face, and my hair askew from Pod’s safe embrace. She fumbles with the ties on my heavy dress, as I sob out apologies for my state and her work. Pod is pacing, I can feel his rage roll off of him with every pass. Slipping behind my dressing screen, I shove the dress off of me and Jeyne finds my dressing gown. When I return to the main part of the room, Jeyne slips out after seeing Pod’s face and my reaction to it. 

He has stopped pacing, and his eyes look at me with such desperateness and fierceness. “Sansa,” he kneels in front of me and takes my hand. “Please don’t continue with this madness. This game that you’re playing with these lords. I know you have no intention of marrying any of these men, and tonight you almost were hurt as a result of your ruse. Please, I beg of you, send them home. Don’t dine with Lord Thyo this week. Send them away. Return to ruling your people like you set out to do. Please, my Queen, please, Sansa.” 

By the time he finishes his implores, we both have tears in our eyes. I kneel down to be even with him. “Pod, you know I can’t.” I feel so small. I feel so terrible, knowing what my ultimate decision will have to probably be. “I can’t.” I choke back a sob and begin shaking again. He pulls me into his arms and places his lips on top of my head, breathing me in. We cry together, words unable to capture what we both are feeling. I grasp his arms and pull him tighter to me, as close as I can make him. He grips me hard, his strong arms surrounding me completely, and I can hear his gasps of breath as he struggles to compose himself. 

“Stay here with me tonight,” I whisper to him once we both are able to find some quiet. “I don’t want to be alone.” His body freezes, but he nods all the same. “T-there’s a couch in the solar, we can bring it in here for you to sleep on.” 

He fetches the couch, and dutifully places it in front of the fire. I look at him with hopeful, pleading eyes. “I know it’s inappropriate of me, Pod, but will you sleep next to my bed? I’m so sorry, I’m just so scared.” The tears start to fall again and he wraps his arms around me, letting me bury my face into his shoulder and wet the cloth and metal of his armor with my tears. 

“It’s not inappropriate, my Queen, nothing you could do is inappropriate.” He mumbles this into my hair, and then gently disentangles himself from me. He pushes the couch closer to the bed, then starts undoing his armor straps. After he unhooks the one side with his right hand, he fumbles with his left hand do undo the other. I move closer, wanting to do something with my hands, and so I start to work at the clasp which is tightly bound. Working it for a minute, the clasp finally comes undone with a satisfying clunk, and he lifts the armor piece over his head, placing it gently on the ground next to the couch. Then he places his sword flat on the ground next to him, within easy grasp, and goes to lock the door. He moves my dressing table in front of the door, “For good measure.”

I’m sitting feebly on my bed, still shaken from the night. He sits on the couch, facing me, and gazes at me with a sad and worried look. Taking a deep breath, I begin explaining to him everything that happened to me in King’s Landing and since I left the city. I tell him about the Bread Riot, how two men grabbed me and pulled me into a stable, tearing at my dress and attempting to rape me. About how I watched a crowd dismember a man in the same riot, and the screams of Stannis’s army from the Red Keep, clamoring to break our defenses during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. He knows already most about Joffrey, having witnessed a lot of his abuse himself, but telling him about Ramsay was hardest of all. Watching his reactions as I explained how I was sold to him to be beaten and raped almost every night, I worry I will have to keep him from resurrecting Ramsay to kill him again. Pod’s hands are tightly gripped into fists, the skin turning from red to white as he cuts off blood supply to him. His jaw is set, his eyes fixated on the ground, a slight shake starting in his body. Once I finish telling him everything up to me letting Ramsay’s dogs maul him to death, I sink to my knees in front of Pod and take his hands into mine. I look into his eyes, and place a palm against my cheek. 

“Even though tonight reminded me of all these things, those events are in the past. I have you now to protect me, and you have done such so far wonderfully. When you’re here, I am safe, and I know if you are guarding me, no person will ever be able to hurt me.”

He’s unable to talk, still overcome with such rage. We sit in silence, me still holding his hands, turning them over, mapping the callouses and dips and scars and smoothness with my own. Eventually, the fear that had been swelling and falling inside of me settles and is replaced with a tentative calm, and I feel Pod begin to relax and loosen his muscles. 

“I am in awe of your strength, my Queen,” he tells me finally. “Seeing you for the first time, in the throne room after Joffrey did some abuse to you, I watched you walk out with your head held high, giving no one a second glance. I was in awe of you then, and I’m in awe of you now.”

I give him my first warm smile of the night, and kiss his hand in thanks. “We should get some sleep, Pod, tomorrow we must look as if nothing is awry.”

Thyo does end up dining with me, and it is a frustrating state of affair. Being the penultimate night of the tournament, energies run high as the final competitors face each other on the morrow. Fortunately for me, this excitement served as a welcome distraction from the events with the Pentoshi magistrate. He, alongside his retinue, had been banished the next morning and were rather rudely jeered out of town. 

Dinner with Thyo, while not as outwardly offensive as my dinner with the Pentoshi, ranks as second worst of the week. He speaks vainly of himself and with pride that I would think him the King and I the lady seeking his hand. He scoffs at me addressing Brienne as “Ser,” and I remind him that it is her right to be called as such. 

“When we are married,” he whispers to me midway through the meal, and my insides turn to ice, “We shall have fifty true knights at our command, as befitting a royal couple. Not two Southroners either, true born Northmen who know the respect due their queen.”  
I try to smile away his remark and comment on the music being played, how I’ve always loved the song chosen by the singer. He barks a laugh and rolls his eyes, then boasts about his prowess a the jousting match earlier. 

“You weren’t there, Sansa.” 

I take a sharp breath at his informality. “I had business matters to attend to.” Again, a scoff. My eyes find Pod’s, and he looks almost like how he did the other night with the Pentoshi knight. My cheeks blush slightly at the memory of Jeyne finding us sleeping the next morning, my hand over the side of my bed, his on the ground below it facing up, and her slight smile telling me she would keep the intimate sight a secret.

“Sansa?”

“Oh, I apologize, what did you say?”

“Only that what I’ve done on the field has been unrivaled by any other man here, a true show of the might of White Harbor.”

“Oh, yes, truly a show.” I say distractedly, pushing a piece of meat around on my plate. Our conversation continues like this for the rest of the meal. And as soon as the final course is served, I excuse myself and walk off the dais without a backwards glance. Pod finds me, I take his arm, and he escorts me back to my room with Alienor and Isybelle behind us. Ever since the Pentoshi debacle, they insisted on following me around constantly, even as I read letters and work quietly in the solar. 

“He looked so angry, Your Grace!” Alienor whispers to me as soon as we enter the courtyard. 

“He needs to learn to control himself,” Isybelle comments with an eye roll. “What a rude, unbearable man.”

I clench my teeth, trying to keep the scream from erupting from between my lips. I haven’t told anyone, not even Brienne or Nella, that I will probably have to marry this man. If I say it out loud, it becomes more real to me, and so I’ve been trying to bury it down and pretend it will not happen. When they find out, they will probably beg for me to pick anyone else, and I always have to remember what Jon told me in King’s Landing, after he slayed the Dragon Queen: “Love is the death of duty,” something that sounded cryptic in the moment, but has felt more tangible in the recent weeks.

On the last day of the festivities, we restart a tradition where a maiden from the village is crowned queen for the day, alongside a king. Gathered in the Great Hall, tables spilling out of the doors and into the courtyard to help accommodate the smallfolk invited to tonight’s closing feast, I look out at the crowd and give a warm smile. The smallfolk selected their queen-for-a-day earlier, where she was treated to the best seat at the awards ceremony and was able to give her own favors to the winners. I crown the maiden myself, a beauty with jet black curly hair and dark brown eyes. She is practically glowing from the attention, and the flower crown I place gently over her curls contrasts beautifully with her coloring. A king is also selected, but the smallfolk cry out, “A brave knight for our queen! A knight! Long live the queen and her knight!” The young man bows dramatically to the overjoyed crown and kneels in front of the maiden queen. She stands and offers the faux knight her hand, and he declares to everyone that he will serve her for as long as she reigns. 

I smile graciously to the crowd and clutch to my chest the bouquet of flowers a young girl hands out to me. Waving, I leave the dais and return to my own knight’s side in the corner of the Great Hall. The young maiden queen and her knight dine on the dais this night, and I am allowed to dine wherever I want. 

“Can we go where it’s just us?” I whisper to Pod once the music starts up again and the food begins to be served. He puts his arm out for me and we quickly exit the hall undetected. 

After meandering around the godswood for half an hour or so, I mention how most of the castle will be down in the Great Hall, enjoying the final night of frivolity. His eyebrows go up in a question, and I give his arm a squeeze. At the heart tree, I stop and turn to him. 

“You know you mean so much to me, Pod, right?” 

“I had hoped so, my… Sansa.” He gives a quick smile.

I return his smile and take a deep breath. “You’re kind and strong and brave, everything I’ve always admired and wanted in my life.” Now he looks truly confused. “There are decisions I have to make in the coming months, decisions that may limit the happiness we both deserve. But those decisions are months away, and I believe that as a queen, I should be permitted whatever happiness I can have, however fleeting it may be.”

“Sansa…” 

“Pod, I love you.” I sigh out of relief, and grab his hands in my own. “I love you.”

He laughs gently, nervously. “Too much wine again tonight, my Queen?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t had any Pod.”

His eyes turn from amused to serious, lines forming between his brow. “Sansa… I-I…” The stumbletongue has returned. 

“It’s wrong of me, as your lady, I know,” I start saying the words that have been brewing for weeks in my head. “I vowed to you to not ask you to do anything that would bring you dishonor, and yet my love for you ultimately will lead to it. We both know I need to ensure the safety of my realm, and I have a duty to do so through marriage. But in this moment until that point, I want and need you, Pod, urgently.”

His eyes go dark and dewy. “I love you, my Queen. I always will, no matter what.” And suddenly, Pod’s hands cup my face and he kisses me softly. Before he can pull away, I put my hands behind his head, knotting my fingers in his soft hair, and pull him in to kiss him deeper. 

“M-my chambers,” I whisper when we finally end the kiss, foreheads resting on each other. He nods silently, and we hurry through the godswood and courtyard, up the steps to my chambers at the top of the main tower. 

Pod waits in the solar, and I enter through my bedroom door to ensure no one has followed us and no servant is away from the feast and tending to my fire. Locking the door behind me, I scan the room to find it empty. I open the solar door, and beckon Pod to me. We lock that door behind us as well and immediately find each other’s lips again. His hands rest on my lower back, mine are wrapped around his head, as his tongue pushes my lips apart. I open my mouth readily, and sigh into him as we start to explore the other’s body with our hands. As I imagined, he is harder than he is soft, his shoulders broad and his hips narrow. I hope I am what he imagined, as he starts to undo the laces in front of my dress, running a warm hand over any exposed skin he can find. We break apart only to undress ourselves, and while I lift his shirt over his head and can manage to start undoing the laces at his hip, he fumbles with the tight laces Alienor made earlier that night. Giggling, I deftly untie them and then slip the dress over my shoulders, letting it fall to the ground unceremoniously in a heap. 

We are then in our underclothes, and the tone shifts in the room. He regards me seriously, the smile on his face replaced by reverence as I take a deep breath. It’s the first time in my life I will have undressed myself willingly for the man in front of me. He seems to read this thought, and waits for me to slip off the final cloth barrier between myself and him. The smallcloth is thin, and yet I don’t shiver as I shimmy it over my head and drop it onto my clothes pile. My pale skin glows against the firelight, and I watch his eyes as they travel down from my face, to my neck, then chest and breasts, finally down to the patch of dark red hair between my legs. He then slowly pulls down his own smallclothes, revealing toned thighs and a member that is already rising for the task at hand. 

Still, he waits for me, and I slowly step towards him, watching his face for any hint to his thoughts. Brushing my hands over his exposed chest, I take his arms and guide them to first touch my shoulders, then slowly down my arms and over my breasts. My hands over his hands, I guide each one over a tender nipple. He never looks away from me, but I can see his eyes shine with desire and awe. I lean forward and kiss him, letting go of his hands and giving him permission to touch me how he sees fit. His fingers gently touch my nipples, causing them to pebble and rise. I moan unexpectedly, and feel him smile against my lips. Wanting to return the favor, I run my hands from his lower back, over his arse, and bring one around front to just touch the tip of his member. My fingertips come away wet and he leans into me, starting to breathe heavily. 

Abruptly, he steadies himself and leans away from me. “Sansa,” his voice is husky, “If you tell me to stop, I will stop. At whatever point it is, you command it and I will follow it immediately.” 

I nod eagerly. “Okay, Pod. I’m ready.” 

They were the words he was waiting for. He gives me a reassuring smile, then smoothly scoops me into his arms and gently lays me down on my bed. I smile up at him, my hair framing my face, my sex beginning to moisten at the anticipation. He smiles back, then kisses my lips, my chin, my neck, and trails down again to my nipples. When his mouth catches one between his lips, I again can’t help but moan as electricity sparks all throughout my body. He continues to suck at it, lick at it, bite at it, and then his other hand travels over the other breast, down my stomach, and just lightly touches the outside of my sex. I take my hand and push his so it connects with my nub, and again sparks fly around me. I feel his long member press against my thigh as he starts to tease me, slowly at first, but then more earnestly as his fingers deftly maneuver around my center. Then, he pulls at my nipple with his lips and lets it fall out of his mouth with a pop and moves lower on the bed so his face is even between my thighs. He glances at me and with a nod he moves his mouth so his tongue is flush against where his fingers just were. Switching from lapping to nibbling to sucking, my mind alights with sensation, and I am soon panting his name and thrusting my hips around his head. Never before had this felt so good, felt so right, but here I am in my home enjoying the love of a man who would never harm me. Margaery had assured me that this is what lovemaking was supposed to be like, that women could find great pleasure in it, and Arya spoke of her finding that to be true in her own experiences, but for me, this is the first time I have found it.

As I begin to buck more jerkily, Pod grabs my hips with his hand, steadying them in a light but commanding way. I sigh his name nonstop, Pod, Pod, Pod, and soon he has me reaching the crest and calling out his name as the my eyes shut and I lose focus and come fast and hard with his mouth still on me. Breathing heavily, I lay back and enjoy the aftershocks that follow. He sits up, wipes his mouth with his hand, and beams down at me, enjoying his handiwork. I lift my arms to beckon him to come closer again, and he puts his full weight on me as we kiss again, making me feel safe and grounded. 

Pod’s now iron-hard member still pressed against my leg is a reminder that there’s more to come. I reach down and wrap my hand around it, feeling more confident than before. He smiles into my neck as I start to move my hand up and down, thumbing the tip, and soon his smile turns into pants of his own. His hand finds me between the thighs again, fingers working me into a sleek wetness, pleasure clouding my ability to focus on him. 

“Sansa, I want to be inside you…” he whispers breathily in my ear. I nod and kiss him, and then my hands are on his hips, his are beside my head, propping him up over me. His member is lined up between my thighs, and we gaze at each other as he deftly, smoothly slips himself inside of me. There’s no pain, only a sensation of being whole, feeling filled, as he pauses and waits for my reaction. Ultimately, I moan and he takes that as a sign to start to move his hips, slowly out and slowly in. The sensation is tantalizing, and a sheen of sweat starts to glisten on Pod’s back and he exerts this control. We watch each other, taking in the moment of connection. My entire world in that moment is him – his eyes, his face, the feeling of his skin against mine, the heat our bodies are generating, and the pleasure coming between my legs. He can only look at me with complete adoration on his face, his eyes bearing into mine with the weight of the entire world in them. We kiss, breaking the spell, and then instinct takes over. 

I wrap my legs around his thighs and urge him to thrust faster into me. There’s a faint sensation inside of me that rises gently, contrasting with the urgent pleasure building back in my nub as Pod’s hip bones grind into it. His head dips into my neck as he begins to pick up his pace, slight moans coming from his lips that are softened by my skin. 

“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,” it’s his turn to repeat my name like a mantra, as both sensations in me rise up together and he is now pushing his hips into mine with such force, my head starts moving up and down on the pillow, my hair getting pulled under my shoulder blades. 

Pod sits up and rests on his legs, while still inside of me, using my hips to pull me close to him again. He thrusts in this position, lifting my hips gently and watching my face for my reaction as the gentle throb rising inside of me becomes a roar, building and building until I’m crying out, calling his name, and moving from side to side as he grips me hard. He leans forward again, hands framing my head, holding himself to look in my eyes as he thrusts wildly three, four times before calling out my name, and spilling his seed deep inside me with one final gasp. As he settles, he rests his body weight on me again, head in my neck, hand on my breast, and I play lazily with his hair as he regains his breath and presence of mind again. 

I hear his breath return to a steady rhythm, and he moves off of me just so our sweaty skin can be exposed to the cool air around us. Smiling at him, I caress his face and watch his eyes. We are silent, soaking in the essence of the other, reveling in our pleasure and our closeness. 

“I love you,” I whisper again, breaking our quiet meditation. 

He puts his hand against my cheek, eyes running over my face as though he’s memorizing every mark, every rise and fall of my cheek bones, determining the exact shade of blue that are my eyes. “I love you, my Queen, my Sansa.” 

We drowse in each other’s arms for some time after, sometimes speaking, but mostly just slowly running our hands over the other’s skin, unable to look away from the other’s eyes. Eventually, he falls asleep, his face buried in my neck, his arm wrapped around to cradle my head. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, my head a storm of emotions and my heart full of the love for the man beside me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback always welcome and appreciated! 
> 
> It may be a day or so before I can post another chapter, and then maybe not again until early next week, just as a heads up! Hopefully this chapter can tide you over between now and then...


	7. Chapter Seven

Weeks go by as if I am floating on a cloud. The day after Pod and I shared our first night together, I bid goodbye to the suitors from the ramparts, feeling lighter than I had since returning from King’s Landing. I’m sure the suitors believed it due to their successful courting, but it all rested on the knight who stood behind me as I waved, reddened face a dead giveaway for those who would care to look closer. 

I throw caution to the wind, now that I was not being watched by men from outside Winterfell. The people of my castle, of Winterfell, declared their support on the last feast day when they declared their faux queen’s sire not a king, but a loyal knight. Alienor and Isybelle do not shy from teasing the both of us as our group of four resume pleasant walks every morning. Even Brienne seems to be aware of the love shining from both Pod and me, although she is tact enough to not say anything. 

Most nights Pod stays with me in my chambers. He shows me new ways to give me pleasure, ways I never would have thought of on my own. I have to urge him to take pleasure himself, as he focuses so much more on me and my needs than his own. When he does let himself take me fully, I’m treated to watching his face be overcome with passion, completely lost in the moment, that even if I do not peak it was well worth it to me. One night he pulls me on top of him, hands on my hips, and guides me over his member. We rock together, him thrusting up as I bring my hips down, until I can only see spots of black and stars. The next day, I awake with handprint bruises along my hips. When Pod sees them, he goes into a panic, dropping on his knees and kissing where he marked me, apologizing the entire time. I laugh it off and when I put my hands on his arms to raise him back into a standing position, I cradle his face and let him know he did not hurt me, could not ever hurt me, and then we are late for our walk after being consumed with desire again. 

Some nights we just lay together, the fire bouncing off of our exposed skin, and talk about everything that came before the moment we were sharing. We never speak of the future; the impending royal tour is a black storm cloud along the horizon. And so I come to learn about Pod’s childhood as an underfoot stumbletongue dreaming of knighthood and adventure. He sings to me one day, revealing a deep and sonorous voice that brings tears to my eyes when he sings my favorite songs. I tell him about my charmed childhood with my mother and father, brothers and sister, how I drew strength from my mother and Robb when I was in King’s Landing, fully expecting Robb to lay siege to the city and save me. 

No matter which activity takes up our time together, every second with him brings me such aching happiness I feel I am to burst apart at any moment. Dinners alone in my solar allow us intimate moments we cannot share when we dine in the Great Hall. But even then, I have him sit on my right side in a place of honor, and no one around us bats an eye. 

Excepting my imminent betrothal, a fact I ignore resolutely in my happiness, I do have one deep unhappiness in these weeks. Jeyne, my ever stalwart and discrete maid, brings me moontea one morning after a week of blinding bliss with Pod at my side. She places it silently on my table in the solar as I break my fast, reading over letters that arrived in the night from the South. I’m no stranger to the concoction – I drank it as much as I could while married to Ramsay – but the sight of the deep ocean blue bottle in front of me stops me dead, and I stare at it with a gaping mouth. 

“Jeyne, I… I…”

She places a kind hand on top of my own, but I feel the panic starting in her. “Your Grace, I hope you forgive my boldness. I only assumed…”

“Jeyne,” I interrupt her, “It’s okay. You’ve done well to remind me of my responsibilities. Thank you… and I will start giving you some coin to procure more for me, if you can?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I can do that.” She curtsies out of the room, and I’m left alone to ponder the bottle and its meanings. I’m not sure how I could be so forgetful, of course I cannot become pregnant before I am married. My realm understands that while I am no maid, I am also not free to act in the ways I have during the past week. There are still duties to be carried out, appearances to be kept. 

Then, Pod’s earnest, beautiful face pops into my head, and I am devastated at the thought of having to deny him children. He will live a childless life as long as he remains at my side, and how unfair is that to the man who told me how in King’s Landing, even after becoming a squire, he would spend time each day with the children working in the kitchens? The man who whispered to me while I fell asleep one night how much a child or two or three would make him happy, even though he knew it was not likely given his station. 

Alienor goes to open my door and I bark at her to leave, saying I do not feel well, not wanting anyone to see me in my distressed state. Tears stream onto my skirt as I shake with sobs at the predicament. I drink the moontea in one gulp, choking slightly on its bitter, mint, and coyingly sweet taste. 

Pod finds me after a few minutes, still sitting at my desk, just staring blankly at a letter in front of me. He sees the bottle, my red-splotched face, and understands the situation immediately. Selflessly, he ends up comforting me despite my emotional turmoil for him. He wraps his arms around me and lets me cry into his shoulder until I cannot cry anymore. Then he fetches some cool water and a cloth to let me wash my face and dab under my eyes. Playing with my hair, he watches my face and then says, “You do not have to be sad for me, I knew what I was getting into.” I shake my head and he squeezes my hand. “Your love, living my life by your side, is worth more to me than children with anyone else.”

“I’m so sorry, it’s just my duty,” I am able to gulp out finally. 

“It’s your duty,” he tells me reassuringly, then kisses my hand. From that day on, he is the one to slip Jeyne coins and brings me the small bottles himself, giving me a reassuring smile each time. 

Too soon it is time to start finalizing plans for the tour. Brienne sits with me in the library, detailing our route while we pour over maps. “First we will travel to Cerwyn… then through the Wolfswood to Deepwood Motte… across the Lonely Hills to Last Hearth…south to Dreadfort…-” I flinch at the name of my second husband’s house – “and ending at White Harbor before returning to Winterfell,” Brienne traces over the map for me. It’s a wide circle that will take weeks to complete. The shortest distance is to Cerwyn, which a few weeks later we complete in a single ride, me on my horse and Pod by my side. 

When we enter the castle’s courtyard, Nella runs to meet me and I jump off my horse to hug her tightly. “It’s been too long,” I whisper in her ear, “And I have so much to tell you.” She eyes Pod turning red on his horse behind me, and her knowing smile tells me she understands already. She rushes to show me the apartments I’ll be staying in – they’re bright and warm, with a small door leading into a private, hidden room.

“You’re too bold for your own good,” I hug her again, grateful for some space where I can at the very least be alone, or maybe even spend time with the ones I love in private while on this very exposed trip. 

“I know,” she squeezes me and starts gushing about how much she misses Winterfell, how her mother and sisters are fine but aren’t up for a good adventure like the ladies she spends time with in our home. She, Alienor, and Isybelle reunite and get along splendidly, allowing me to observe their high energy chatter and ideas while they prepare me for the welcoming feast that same night. It’s refreshing, and despite the hard ride that day to Cerwyn Castle, I feel ready to face the rest of the trip. 

The entire hall stands as I enter, walking gracefully and silently to the dais in the front. The Cerywn Great Hall is much smaller than the one in Winterfell, but it is bright with windows despite the later hour. 

Lord and Lady Cerwyn greet me with a bow and a curtsy before we take our seats. The dinner conversation is pleasant and easy, and I feel most welcome in the castle. After a few courses, Lord Cerywn, seated at my right, leans over to tell me quietly, “My dear Nella has told me all about Your Grace’s grace and strength as a leader.” 

I smile at my lady across the hall, who watches us with desperate curiosity. “Lady Nella is most kind,” I tell him gently and he beams at his daughter who tries to hide her blatant spying. “And very loyal. I have found great pleasure in her company.” 

“What an honor it is to hear that, Your Grace. Thank you.” The lord pauses as he sips from his goblet, then he turns to me again. “I would like to declare my loyalty to Your Grace and her kingdom, if it pleases Your Grace.” 

“It would very much, Lord Cerywn.”

“And from what my daughter has told me, Your Grace is fully capable of governing, with or without a husband.” I pause before picking up my own goblet, unwilling to show any hint of a shake that has developed in my body at his words. “Consequently, I wish to withdraw the Cerwyn suitor from pursuing Your Grace’s hand in marriage, and to declare support for whatever decision Your Grace announces at the end of the royal tour.”

I turn to also face Lord Cerywn, and profess gratefulness for his loyalty and trust. “Your words mean more than you can realize, my lord.”

“Anything for Lord Ned’s daughter, our Queen in the North.” 

I am almost floating when I finally leave the dais to return to my apartments, Nella and Pod flanking me through the castle. When Nella undresses me and helps me into a sleeping gown, I enter the private, secret room using the mechanisms she showed me carefully earlier. Expecting to be alone, I jump slightly at the sight of Pod sitting on the small bunk that runs along the length of the room. He’s in his own loose clothing, and lounges cockily on the bunk, the most relaxed I’ve maybe ever seen him.

Laughing quickly at my small fright, he pulls me down onto his lap. “My queen,” he whispers languidly, then kisses me deeply as I wrap my arms around his neck. Already I feel his hardness against my thigh, and now it is my turn to laugh kindly at him. 

“Is my knight too eager, perhaps?” I tease gently, running a finger over his soft lips. They twist into another smile and then he’s leaning into my neck, breathing me in, and leaves hot, wet kisses that trail down to my collarbone. “You’re also very bold this evening,” I whisper into his hair as he changes from kissing my skin to tracing it with his tongue. 

“I am,” his fingers find my breasts over my gown, “bold tonight,” then his thumbs find my budding nipples, “as I am the luckiest,” a quick pinch of his fingers elicits a moan from my lips, “man in Westeros.” He kisses the space between my breasts to punctuate his declaration, but before he gets too comfortable I pull his head back by his hair. 

“In only Westeros?” 

He grins at me. “In the world.” 

With that, I allow him to lift the light gown over my head. His lips find a nipple and he uses his tongue to tease it into standing attention. From his lap, I watch his head dutifully attend to the other nipple, until both are wet and pointed in the cool air of the room. I start to rock my hips to rub against his hardening cock still contained by his linen pants. Now it is his turn to moan, and I slowly slip onto the ground and gently rest on my knees. Untying his breeches, I loosen them enough to pull them down over his cock and buttocks to the floor. His member already glistens with desire, and I look at him boldly as I grasp it fully in my hand. Pod’s face reddens, this time I believe more by desire than by shyness. When I put the tip of his cock into my mouth, he bucks as though he’s soon to reach his peak. I hold him still, then move my head slowly down his member, using my tongue to tease the most sensitive parts of him as I bob up and down. Never having done such a maneuver before, I hope my skill isn’t disappointing as I had only ever heard of this act from the other experienced ladies in my life. Pod moans deeply, a guttural sound, so I assume my motions are suffice enough at the moment. After some time of this up and down, I begin to focus solely on the tip of his member, using my tongue to stimulate the same spot over and over, a spot that elicited the greatest moan so far. Soon he begins to say my name over and over and as he gasps, I’m surprised by his seed tasting salty in my mouth. 

When I rejoin him on the bunk, his eyes are dewy, his skin flushed. He reaches for me and kisses me deeply as soon as I’m close enough. “You are amazing, Sansa.” 

“Oh, stop, Pod. I’m sure you’ve had better,” it’s a tease, but it still brings concern to his face when I say it. 

“I can’t even remember,” he finally whispers, a finger tracing my cheekbone. “I only remember and know you, Sansa. You are my beginning and end.” 

We kiss more tenderly then, his hand in my hair, my hands on his face. My chest swells and I suddenly need to feel him as close to me as possible. I lay back, pulling him onto me, and soon he finds my center and rocks slowly into me, relishing the feeling as much as I do. Only in these moments do I feel completely myself, completely whole. After a moment of quiet, he begins to gradually move in and out of me, his eyes only on my own as the friction between our bodies builds to an aching peak. When he buries his head into my neck saying my name again, I find myself saying his as warmth spreads inside me. We both shake together, enjoying our own pleasure given by the other. He lays on me after, his breath still shuddering, his member still inside me. We don’t speak, only trace letters and images on each other’s warm skin. 

The royal court’s time in Cerywn ends too soon for my liking, as the privacy I’ve been given to share with Pod becomes precious and invaluable as I tend to the daily tasks required of the queen. I find myself in a carriage with my ladies this time during our long, bumpy journey to Deepwood Motte. The Pooles greet us as soon as we arrive, immediately showing us to warm hearths, comfortable seats, and giving us steaming cups of wine. 

“Your Grace,” the castle’s maester hurries to me while we are being shown to my apartments. “I have a letter from you, the seal appears to be the Hand of the King of the Six Kingdoms.” 

“Thank you, maester,” I say distantly as I take the scroll and examine Tyrion’s official seal. He usually uses a personal one when sending me letters that are more amusing than informative and ask about my own self instead of my kingdom’s. I tuck the new scroll into my pocket and allow Lord and Lady Poole to continue on our way to the apartments. 

While the Cerwyn apartments were bright, these at Deepwood Motte are dark but lush with furs. Nella, Alienor, and Isybelle unpack my belongings as Pod surveys the room with Brienne, looking for any weaknesses in its security. I break open the seal and read the scroll quickly, the words barely making sense. I must have made a noise, as all five of my companions stop their business to watch me with wide eyes. I merely hand the scroll to Pod, and once he takes it I cover my mouth with my hands. My ladies and Brienne discreetly leave as Pod rereads the scroll and hands it back to me. 

“My dearest Queen Sansa,

I write to you humbly as a friend, and do not relish that this letter comes from my political position instead of a personal one. I’ve heard a rumor that you have taken up romantically with a certain squire-turned-knight, and as happy as I am that you and this certain knight have found the finest pleasures with each other, I urge you to resume your former discretion and tactfulness when it comes to your actions and emotions. There have been grumblings from a few northern lords, the lord of White Harbor especially, that you are flaunting a special closeness with your knight while also toying with the announcement of a possible betrothal from their ranks. This is not wise, my dearest friend, Your Grace. It is a difficult situation, I am entirely sure, and it pains me to ask you to put aside whatever happiness you have found, but I am afraid it is crucial and necessary for you to practice caution and display only untouchable virtue for the rest of your tour. Marry off Podrick if it seems you must to someone trustworthy and loyal, I care not what you do behind the supposed sacred vows of marriage. I cannot fault you for continuing your relationship, I cannot even pretend that I would judge you for it, let alone I would not encourage it if I could, but the safety and stability of your realm, your duty, must come first. Burn this letter after you have read it, and take to heart that I am secretly happy for you both. 

Yours,   
Tyrion, Hand of the King”

Stricken, I throw the letter onto the fire and watch it as the edges crumble into ash. I turn into Pod, my head in his neck as his arms wrap around me. “He’s right, Sansa, we should be more careful.” Gone is my bold knight of Cerwyn, replaced by my stalwart and always cautious Ser Pod. I nod into his shoulder but bury myself more in his arms. “Besides,” he whispers in my ear, “the Pooles must not believe in secret trysts, as there’s no secret room to be found.” 

I give a small laugh. “At least we won’t be tempted,” I offer, before bidding him goodnight and trying to sleep in the large, dark room that only seems to be pressing down into me. 

Our time in Deepwood Motte passes pleasantly, if not lonely and boring for me as I avoid Pod as much as possible. In private, I allow us to have some time together, but we refrain from exploring each other’s bodies like we were in Winterfell and Cerwyn castles. Instead, we talk and I work on embroidery, trying to keep my hands as busy as possible to distract from my racing thoughts. 

From Deepwood Motte we travel to Last Hearth, given to the Tallharts as a gift for their loyalty in the War of the Five Kings and the battles that came after. Another fine visit, enlivened by sled rides in the snow that still rises high against the outer walls of the castle. The grip around my heart that throbbed since my conversation with Lord Manderly only tightens painfully when we leave Last Hearth to visit the Dreadfort, a mostly abandoned castle used for grain and arms storage after our wars. It is controlled by men of the Nights Watch, a group mostly pointless now that the Dead have been defeated, but one that still exists nonetheless. As Queen in the North and thus the closest to the Wall and the Watch, I have been given jurisdiction over their comings and goings into my kingdom and the Six Kingdoms to the south. In return for our alliance, they have offered to manage the Dreadfort for the North, as no lord wished to rule over its dark and horror-filled halls. 

I shiver as I ride my horse into the courtyard, trying my best to maintain distance between my memories and the taste of bile in my throat. I focus on my horse’s ears, keeping my head low. Pod watches me carefully from his own horse, knowing about my brief but horrific stay here while married to Ramsey. Fortunately for us, at this castle there are no northern lords, only men of the Nights Watch, so our glances and brief touches as we acclimate to the castle go mostly unnoticed. 

That night, as I lay in a bed in a southern tower – as far away from the tower I had stayed in previously – I shake and try to keep calm despite my panic. Images of Ramsey and what he had done to me pop into my head as soon as I close my eyes. Keeping them open only permits me to see fear and danger in the shadows. As midnight passes without any sleep, I give in to what I should resist – summoning Pod to my side. I wake Nella in the small room next to my own and have her find him and bring him to me as quickly and subtly as possible. 

I’m on my side, shivering despite my heavy blankets in my bed when he comes. Not saying a word, he lowers himself down onto the bed gently, turning his body towards mine, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face into my neck. I grab his hands tightly with my own, holding on as though for life. After my breathing returns to normal, and I can begin to make out actual objects in the room instead of demons in the shadows, my body relaxes into Pod completely. I feel safe and as at peace as I can in this castle. Slowly, I move his hands still wrapped with mine to my stomach, then down towards the triangle between my legs. He slowly moves his fingers to find my warm, wet center, and gently begins to tease my nub, watching my face to make sure he wasn’t going too far. I kiss his face where I can, craning my neck to reach him. Soon his fingers deftly pick up speed, and he brings me to my edge and into blinding pleasure that quiets my thoughts and gives me immediate peace. I turn to him, smiling, and kiss him deeply in return. We doze, then in our half-sleep find each other, moving slowly and gently against the other, allowing our senses to take over completely. He muffles his groan into my shoulder when he comes, and I finally fall deep asleep in his arms, warmth surrounding me despite the night’s chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay - it's been three weeks since I've had both my computer and its charger in the same room. The next chapter is not long behind!


	8. Chapter Eight

We arrive at our final stop, White Harbor, late in the afternoon a week later. I’m half frozen, along with my ladies, and even though I have dreaded this castle since the conception of this tour, I’m almost grateful to feel warm again. 

Lords Manderly and Thyo greet us in the courtyard as the carriage jumps through the gate over the uneven stones. I can hear the ocean’s waves made louder by the circular yard. As I step down from the carriage, Pod gives me his hand and then backs away a respectful distance. Our touch does not go unnoticed by Lord Manderly, but Thyo appears to be clueless, grinning and puffing himself up like a peacock. 

During dinner, I try to only speak to Lord Manderly and not to Thyo, who sits to my left. It is in vain, but fortunately it is a short dinner as we are tired from our cold journey. Neither lord deigns to show us to my apartments, a slight I normally would want corrected, but I am grateful for the quiet maid who takes us up five flights of stairs to a set of chambers that faces the ocean. 

Pod and Brienne are shown to their rooms as my ladies and I unpack and settle from the trip. Nella stays with me this night at my request, as I hope to talk to her about the next week and the decisions I have to make. She should know first, so she can help me find a way to tell everyone else in my life eventually. 

We settle into the large bed, side by side like we did when I first returned to Winterfell with Jon. She snuggles onto her side, and looks at me expectantly, anticipating this sleepover is not just for the fun company. When I tell her I intend to take Thyo as my husband, Nella’s eyes flash fiercely. “No,” she whispers urgently to me. “You cannot. You mustn’t. He’s terrible, Sansa, why would you ever choose him?”

“I have to do my duty, Nella. He brings the most stability for our realm, the most safety.”

“And what of your safety, Sansa?” She lets the question hang between us. 

“My safety is the safety of the kingdom.” Nella scoffs. “You may think that lacking sense, but it is the truth. Not marrying will anger my lords, the men who support me and validate my rule. Marrying one of them will help promote their loyalty, quiet their whispers about me, which will then strengthen the kingdom. That is where my safety lies, for if my reign is to be usurped, it would be far more unsafe than this marriage.”

She’s quiet, taking in my words and I can see the arguments she conjures and defeats with each thought. Finally, she whispers quietly, “And what of…” Pod’s name is unsaid but still heavy between us. I start to weep, and Nella puts her arms around me, hushing me gently as though I were a babe in a crib. 

“I can’t even bear to think of it… of losing him.” I say between crying fits. She nods and rubs my back, letting me cry the tears that I’ve kept pushed down for months. The tour has been exhausting, and the weeks without Pod heart wrenching. 

After I calm down, Nella promises me, “I will find a place for you and him to meet privately. You deserve to have as much time as possible with him until… until you can’t.” She nods resolutely and I let her believe that this place is safe enough for such games we played in her own castle. We fall into an unsteady sleep, tossing and turning like the waves outside that reach their way into my dreams and hiss at me as I walk to and from Pod and Thyo along the shoreline. 

Nella does secure a room for Pod and I, but it’s only reached if we walk along the outside ramparts from my rooms. It’s a cold and sometimes wet walk, but I welcome the moments of privacy the room gives me with Pod the first few nights we are in White Harbor. I allow myself to think our meetings safe, private, and don’t tell Pod that I suspect that spies are reporting on our every move.

After a long feast on the fifth day of our trip, Nella helps me bathe. I am eager to get to the secret room, so I go with wet hair despite the cold walk, and I am hopeful Pod is already waiting for me at my arrival. When I turn the handle and practically run into the room, I am greeted not by Pod and his warm smile, but instead by the hulking figure of Lord Manderly, resting on the pillows of the large couch, biding his time patiently. 

“Good evening, Lord Manderly,” I say cautiously to his warm smile. 

“Good evening, Your Grace. Please, join me,” he gestures to a cushion to his left. I sit quickly, rigidly, and the dripping from onto the velvet couch, is the only sound in the room for several minutes. As I wonder if I should scream for someone to come help me, Lord Manderly begins to speak. 

“Please don’t fear me, my Queen,” it’s as though he’s reading my mind. “I have no wish to harm you, only a wish to give you some long overdue advice while I have the chance.” 

“How did you know about this room?” I blurt out before he continues. 

He chuckles. “Do you think I know nothing of my own castle, my Queen? Surely us lords are permitted to our own secrets in our own homes.” 

“Yes, of course.” There’s a pregnant pause. “What is your advice to me, my lord?”

“My Queen, I mean no offense by my following words.” He considers me for a moment, and I imagine he’s deciding whether to take my hand in a fatherly fashion or maintain his lordly advantage in the moment. He chooses the latter. “It is an open secret that you have accepted your knight into your bed as a lover. Don’t try to deny it – I can see the blush rise on your cheeks despite your head shaking. Fortunately for you, my Queen, I do not condemn your actions. It must be lonely in your position, and being married twice before, your maidenhood is not something to be an issue at your betrothal.” 

The red hot blush across my face burns more at his words and the surreal situation. “My lord, I- I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t need you to say much, Your Grace. I only wish to hear what Your Grace has decided when it comes to announcing a betrothal at the end of your tour.”

I swallow, and know he has won this game of chess I have tried to play for so long now. Nodding slightly, I acquiesce. “I have decided to announce a betrothal to your nephew, Lord Thyo.” 

“Excellent, Your Grace,” his eyes twinkle with his victory. “I expect the announcement to be made—” 

“No, my lord,” I interrupt. “You have been mistaken in that assumption. You merely asked for my decision, not control of my actions.” I straighten in my seat, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “I will make the announcement on my own terms. My brother, the King of the Six Kingdoms, needs to be informed and there are many tasks to be completed at Winterfell before a wedding can take place. You may not say a word to anyone of my decision, and if you do I shall only deny it and then there shall be no betrothal at all.”

He nods, his pride only slightly dampened by my last, desperate attempt for control. 

“I humbly suggest you spend more time with my nephew, and less with your knight,” Lord Manderly stands, effectively ending the conversation. 

I nod, defeated. “I will do so, my lord.”

The next day I fulfill my promise and Thyo rambles during our stroll around the White Harbor castle. Pod remains a few steps behind us, serving as guard and chaperone to our conversation. My insides are screaming with impatience and boredom, wanting to be anywhere but in this moment. A phrase Thyo uses catches my ears, and I respond without thinking:

“You are not a king.”

“I am not a king yet. But I will be a king soon. And when I am king, you will not wait six days to attend to me, to give me the attention that is due. You will be obedient to me. You will do as I say, we won’t be playing these little games anymore.” His pupils have narrowed, his eyes turning black. It’s an ugly look on him, his whole face transforming from a pleasant countenance to this hateful animal look. 

“Lord Thyo, I am first and foremost the Queen in the North. That will always come before being your wife.” I turn to walk away, and Thyo grabs my wrist, tightening his grip and not letting me move unless I want to break my own bones. 

He hisses in my ear. “You will learn to put me first, to submit to your husband and king. You will take great pleasure in serving me, or you will learn what happens to disobedient bitches.” His hand still grips mine painfully, I am willing tears to not fall from my eyes so he can’t see how he’s affecting me. I refuse to respond, refuse to submit to this attempted manipulation. Finally, I dare a glance in Pod’s direction, as he stands against the wall, head aimed down at his feet but his eyes meeting mine. I can feel Thyo’s anger rolling off him, and my silence only serves to fuel it. He twists his hand on my wrist and it burns from the contact as well as aches from the angle. “You will submit to me, Sansa.” 

As I cry out with a sob, Pod’s hand twitches toward his sword, fingers briefly grazing the grip. It’s a movement that Thyo does not miss. He half lets me go, whirling towards Pod with a fresh surge of rage. 

“How dare you threaten me, knight!” Pod doesn’t flinch under Thyo’s roar, his hand now fully around the weapon’s handle. Unbidden, sobs shake from my body as I watch my almost-betrothed start to reach for his dagger to use against Pod. Something stops Thyo, however, and he turns toward me and watches me cry for a brief moment. Finally, he lets me go with a huff and storms off down the hall, each bootstep ringing off the walls. 

I half fall to the stone ground, and Pod catches me before I land hard on my knees. “My lady, are you hurt?” He whispers to me, cradling my body as carefully as he can. I look at my wrist, red from the friction of skin on skin, pain erupting as I try to move it. Tears are my answer, and Pod picks me up gently to carry me to a room adjacent to us in the hall. He sits me down on a large chair and kneels at my feet, cupping my hand in his own two. 

“H-he’s going to be so angry, Pod,” I am able to croak out after a minute of him gently touching my raw skin. “He’s going to take it out on you.”

“I’m more worried about him taking it out on you, Sansa,” he finally looks me in the eyes, his dark brown ones pools of sorrow. “You can’t marry him, he’ll always hurt you.” 

I’m surprised he knows my decision already, but maybe I shouldn’t be. Pod knows me better than anyone, even Nella, and he had to have understood the reason White Harbor was our last stop on this cursed tour. “Hush, please don’t talk about it.” My whole body goes cold at the thought of my inevitable duty. “Please, please let’s not talk about him.” Pod nods once, then kisses my palm so gently, my sobs return. He lets my tears soak his shoulder, and I can only try to focus on his smell – woodsy, smoky, and something sweet – to keep me from losing total control. 

“I need to get you back to your room,” he finally whispers gently into my ear. “We can’t be found like this.” I nod weakly, and try to rub the redness from my eyes and face. I stand, square my shoulders, and take a deep breath, trying to find some part of me that is poised. 

Pod’s breath catches. “You are beautiful, Sansa,” and he allows himself one gentle kiss to my lips before leading the way out of the room and my entire poised façade is ruined with the love and grief raging inside of me. 

That night, Thyo is reserved, almost demure. We are expected to have dinner together, an ordeal arranged by his uncle, the Lord Manderly. Pod is in the hallway as a guard, I dared not to have him be in Thyo’s sights this night. 

“Queen Sansa, you look lovely,” Thyo greets me as I enter the room, dressed in a dark navy gown, small silver accents around my waist and neck. 

“Thank you, my lord.” I can barely look at him, my wrist aching as soon as I hear his voice. 

“I feel as though I must address what happened earlier. I do apologize for how I hurt you. Sometimes my anger gets the best of me.” I regard him coolly, senses heightened to try to predict what cruelty will follow this charm. “It’s something I deeply regret after.” 

He doesn’t seem regretful, more like proud of himself for this minor speech. I know the proper courtesy, however, is to accept this apology. “Thank you, my lord, for that.” 

My coldness in this moment doesn’t anger Thyo like it has before; instead, he watches me with an unexpected sadness. “Let us dine, my Queen.” 

We eat mostly in silence. I take tiny and few bites, my plates cleared by the serving maid almost as full as they came out to the table. Thyo watches me patiently, waiting for me to speak and make small conversation before speaking to me. He drinks, however, much more than I do, sipping the dark red wine as easily as water. 

Once the meal is close to finished, Thyo clears his throat silently. “I was hoping, my Queen, that we would be able to announce our betrothal before you leave for Winterfell in two days. Then, I could come with you and we could start to plan the wedding festivities.” 

I almost choke on my small bite of honeyed bread. “My lord, I believe it is too early to announce any engagement yet.”

“On the contrary, Sansa, I believe you said you would at the end of your royal tour. Well, this does appear to be the end.” 

My breath comes in short breaths. Thyo watches me, almost with concern, but mostly with disbelief at my continued delay. “I’m just not sure if the people are ready for such change yet.” I think he almost buys it, but then I accidentally glance at the chamber’s door where I know behind is Pod standing guard. Thyo sighs, then stands. I flinch at his movement, expecting his anger to have taken control of him again. To my surprise, he merely moves his chair closer to mine, then leans on his legs with his elbows, staring at his hands. 

“You know the first time I saw you, Sansa, was when you were eleven and I twelve?” I’m too surprised to voice an answer, and instead merely shake my head. “Yes, it was at Winterfell, the entire Manderly clan was invited to Winterfell where we would dine and joust and hunt with the mighty Starks. I worked as a squire to one of my cousins, and it was the most exciting day of my life. Then I saw you across the courtyard, standing so tall next to your mother, your red hair bringing such bright color to the drab grey surroundings.” I vaguely remember this visit, and even though it is unladylike, my mouth is slightly agape at the surprise of this change in demeanor. “When I saw you there, I made a vow… no, more like a wish, that I would be given the chance to bring this pretty, lively girl happiness one day. And it was such a stretch to imagine some distant cousin to a lord would make this wish come true, but here we are.”

He finally looks up at me, the sad look from early returned. For a moment I feel pity, thinking of the young boy who saw the lord’s daughter, regal and pretty across a bustling courtyard. Surely he thought he could win me over, for what woman hasn’t he won over, I wonder? And the sad, lonely, Queen Sansa was surely looking for a gallant-looking king, a position perfect for his ambition. I’m sure he never imagined that love could have belonged to a newly-knighted, non-noble man. As he watches the pity play across my face, I see the sadness turn to sparks of anger flaring in his grey-blue eyes. 

“And I am so close to giving you that happiness, Sansa… and you insist on pining after a lowly knight. Do you realize how embarrassing that is for me? How insulting? To see my future wife on the arm of a fucking lowly-born, Lannister supporting, smug Southron knight?” He keeps his voice low, but the rage spits out in his words toward me. I glance away, bracing myself for the physical pain I know comes next. When he grabs my shoulder, I want to vomit, but I force myself to look at him. 

“You dare touch your queen this way?”

“You’re not my queen for long. Once we marry, I will be your king.” We glare at each other, neither one willing to give in to the other. “I know what a whore you have been, it’s clear to see how you throw yourself at your Southron, traitorous knight at any given chance. I’m not stupid, Sansa. That is how you’ve underestimated me.” 

With each word, he practically spits in my face. I’m too afraid to breathe deeply, too afraid to make any noise that may alert Pod and fold him into this chaotic rage engulfing Thyo. To Thyo’s credit, his control over his voice is tight, and no one would be able to make out his enraged whispering in my face from the halls. 

“He will be married immediately. Tomorrow, if I have my exact way. He can marry one of your cunt ladies-in-waiting who sneak around castles trying to find you private spaces to whore yourself out. If you or he refuses, I will kill him myself once I am king for treason. And I will make you watch every moment of his execution.” His hand tightens on my shoulder, the shooting pain causing my eyes to well. 

“Do you refuse, Sansa?” He spits my name into my face. 

Shame burns throughout my body as I finally whisper the words, “N-no, my lord.”

That night, Alienor brings Pod to my chambers. He looks surprised to be so boldly given access to me, and my heart breaks at how I am about to completely uproot his entire life. 

My ladies have dressed me formally, in a deep black velvet gown, the collar up to my chin, a chain around my waist. The sleeves are cut tightly around my wrists, and my hair is brushed and lays straight down my back. I sit in a hard wooden chair, as straight as I can, my hands clasped death white in my lap. When Pod sees my appearance, understanding flashes across his face. 

“Ser Podrick, we are grateful for your swift arrival,” my voice sounds wooden and weak. Alienor, Nella, and Isybelle stand meekly in the corner, hands gripped behind their backs, eyes downcast. Pod turns and looks around the room with such confusion, such panic, that I must take a steadying breath to continue with my speech. “Ser Podrick, it has come to our attention that it is time for you to settle down, marry, and start a family. No man who has earned such honor as yourself should walk this world alone, and so it is our wish for you to marry an esteemed lady deserving of your love and attention.” Every word is poison in my mouth, my body numb, my eyes trying to keep focus on the crumbling man before me. 

“My Queen?” Pod is confused, and again glances at my ladies, who maintain their stony positions against the wall. “Sansa, what is this?”

I want to keep the formality, make this as quick and smooth as possible like a beheading. I find myself incapable. “Pod, he’ll kill you if you don’t.” I finally whisper. When he sighs and hangs his head, I have to go to him, grasping his hands tightly with my own. He look up at me, all pain and fierceness. “Pod, I’m so sorry, but I have to keep you safe. You have to marry or he will kill you. I-I can’t have you dead, Pod, I’m so sorry.” I start to sob and he holds me for a moment, his arms still warm and tight around me. When I pull away, a hardness starts to set in his eyes and face. “You can marry Nella, or Alienor, or Isybelle – all have agreed to if needed to make this easier on all of us, perhaps.” 

Pod shakes his head once. “I must reject Your Grace’s proposal,” he says not unkindly, but the formality in his tone is like a knife to my chest. “I do not wish to marry, instead I ask that I be allowed to leave your service.” 

The knife in my heart twists and I gasp out, “Where will you go, Pod? What will you do?” 

His jaw sets hard. “I don’t know.” 

“Pod, you can’t – what if you—” 

He interrupts me, “Perhaps I’ll return home, or find a band of knights trying to steady Westeros after all the turmoil. The Riverlands are in tatters, from what I’ve heard from Brienne. They could use help.” 

I can only nod soundlessly. One of my ladies gives a gasping sob. Pod doesn’t take his eyes off of me as he unties the grey scarf I gave him all those months back from around his arm, his unfaltering gaze only serving to further twist the knife in my heart. He kneels, bows his head, and holds out the scarf to me. It’s all the effort I have to take it from him, and once I do he stands, bids me farewell, and leaves without another glance. I can only sob into the scarf as I sink to the ground, my ladies rushing to me, the waves lapping at the beach over and over again, an echo to my cries.


	9. Chapter Nine

Cold rain lashes down upon us, and I wish I could feel it. I wish I could feel anything. Instead, a numbness has descended on me and my attention lasts as long as a sand passes through hands. Thyo has insisted we ride on exposed horses through the countryside and towns between White Harbor and Winterfell as a display of our future rule and power. He beams at everyone, barks out loud laughs, and sits as high as he can on his horse; the elation a result of the missing knight from my side. I can barely acknowledge the people that cry out my name and wave eagerly to me from their homes and streets. My ladies have to collect flowers offered to me by the young children running along our retinue, graciously thanking them in lieu of their queen. My hands loosely grip the reins of my luckily calm and poised horse, and I manage a few nods to the people who make eye contact with me along the way. 

Riding into Winter’s Town, the shock on the small folks’ faces is undeniable as they spot Thyo at my side and not my knight. Their confusion is palpable, but luckily Thyo is too wrapped up in his imagined glory to truly notice. 

We trot into the Winterfell courtyard where my ladies have to help me off my horse, partly due to my state and partly due to how heavy the rain has made my skirts. They march me to my chambers, strip me down, and immediately force me into a warm bath. Murmuring around me, I let them treat me like a child – lifting my arms to wash under them, holding my shoulders as they dip my back and hair into the water, gently wiping a sponge over my skin, raw from the cold rides. 

“Can I bring you anything, Your Grace? Hot wine? Something to eat?” Alienor asks me quietly once they have me dressed and sitting beside the fire. I merely shake my head slowly and one by one they leave me alone to my thoughts and misery. Tears continuously stream down my face as I am paralyzed by my grief, fear, and helplessness. How weak I am, I think to myself as I imagine the scene of me sending Pod away over and over again. Nella finds me in the same position hours later and sends me to bed, herself sleeping on a cot next to my bed to keep me safe from myself and Thyo. 

The weeks begin to drag by as such, me catatonic while my ladies push and pull me to the godswood, the Glass Gardens, the Great Hall, anywhere they think might bring me back some life or anywhere my presence is expected. Dinners are an acute agony, as it’s the only time I’m forced to sit beside Thyo and endure his talking and smugness alone. I don’t eat, only push the food around on my plate, and only respond with nods and the occasional hums. He takes the center place at our large table on the dais, placing me on his left. Brienne watches with disgust as he half-drowns himself in wine, sometimes spilling some on me. When he walks me back to my room every night, she stands as close to me as she can to prevent him from touching me or pushing himself into my room. His anger bubbles up at these times, but hasn’t spilled over since my knight’s banishment. That victory has served as a long-lasting buoyancy to Thyo’s emotions. 

He begins to have me travel back and forth to White Harbor with him as the wedding preparations continue under his oversight. Nella comments sharply when she realizes she has to take in another dress after I return from one such trip, as any excess flesh on my body has disappeared from my body. She clucks her tongue when she sees my visible ribs, causing me to cover my body with my hands. 

“Nella, stop,” I half-beg as she walks around me, getting a better understanding of how my emotional state has manifested physically. It makes me feel raw and exposed, more so than usual. 

“Sansa, you’re skin and bone. Are you trying to waste away?”

“Everything t-tastes like ashes in my mouth.” Nella looks at me with such pity and sadness, my breath catches in my throat. It’s how Tyrion, Shae, and Pod looked at me after my mother and Robb were murdered and I couldn’t eat. “It’ll get better,” I add unconvincingly. 

“You need to eat something. I’m going to start bringing you broth at the very least, and I’m not leaving until you drink it all.” She goes back to a chest to find another dress, one that she’s already tailored to fit my bony frame. “You need to try to find strength, my lady, we need you. Winterfell and the North need you.” 

“I know,” I whisper. Her hand finds mine and squeezes it. “I’ll make sure to walk some when we go to White Harbor next.” 

“Good, although I do not look forward to the trip.” Deftly tying the stays in the dress, she gives me a small smile. “We need our queen– the fierce one who won the North back for her people.” When she hugs me, I smile into her neck and squeeze tight, trying to exert as much strength as I can. 

“It would be nice to have your opinion in any of this,” Thyo tries to gently prod me one day in White Harbor as a seamstress holds up various brocades and fabrics for our wedding outfits. 

I merely shrug. “I defer to your opinion, my lord.” Thyo huffs, then chooses a pale blue the color of a summer sky for my underskirt and his doublet. The cloak he’ll place over my shoulders is white, trimmed with sealskin, featuring a centered dark blue mermaid embroidered with pearls and sapphires. 

“Really, Sansa, this moping around is becoming ridiculous,” he runs his hand over a gold brocade with navy blue accents. “You need to start acting enthusiastic for our betrothal.”

“We’re not betrothed yet.” 

He glares at me. “We are in every way except your official announcement, a delay you will remedy sooner than later. If not, I will make the announcement. It’s not like your people are expecting the brave, crass queen you used to be and thus would not probably blink twice at a joint announcement. Although despite your sour countenance, I actually prefer this demure Sansa over the one I had to endure at your teasing feasts and tournaments.”

Anger flares up in my stomach. “You will not release a joint announcement. Winterfell still isn’t prepared to host a wedding party, and I haven’t received word from my brother yet.”

Thyo groans. “That crippled king is merely toying with us. He knows of your betrothal and its need, he’s only waiting to send word to further vex me.” He glances over at me, “It must be a family trait.” He gestures at the gold brocade for the seamstress then walks over to a window overseeing the ocean, contemplating the waves. “We could always marry here in White Harbor. It would certainly be an improvement to the dour and gloomy Winterfell.”

“No. I will marry only in Winterfell.” 

Thyo turns and walks over to me, causing me to flinch briefly. He kneels instead at my feet and grabs my hands, causing the skin to burn immediately, even though he holds them gently. “Sansa, please. Your stubbornness is losing its charm.” His eyes search mine, brief flickers of desperation flashing amongst their typical coolness. “I wish to marry you as soon as we can. It would bring me such accomplishment, contentment. Aren’t you ready to settle this finally?”

“We will marry in Winterfell. After we receive word from my brother.” 

Thyo pushes air out of his nostrils harshly, making a hissing noise. “You’re such a stubborn bitch. Fine. We’ll keep waiting. You will start to act happier about our union immediately, however, or I will get a septon to marry us as soon as he can.”

I nod almost imperceptibly and he throws my hands back into my lap, turning toward the seamstress to view shoe options for his garments. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and try to draw strength from my body. Luckily his insolence has at least helped me feel rage, an emotion I draw upon to clear my mind and relax my shoulders. I’ve survived Joffrey and Ramsey, I can survive Thyo. I merely need to become ivory again – a cool, pretty demeanor that could not bring any displeasure from those around me. 

Standing, I feel the bones in my hips and ankles crack. Another deep breath, and I join Thyo as he examines leathers, jewel accents, and laces for my dress. “I think the grey lace would look lovely next to the pale blue fabric on my skirts,” I say quietly, drawing shocked glances from the seamstress and Thyo. 

“Y-yes, Your Grace,” she stammers while Thyo nods in agreement. I gently lift the lace to feel its quality and he lays a gentle hand over my own. 

“A perfect observation, Sansa. Excellent.” 

Despite our tepid treaty, Thyo continues to push for a betrothal announcement more and more frequently. I ignore him and keep my tongue quiet about the increasing presence of Manderly sigils and colors throughout the Winterfell keep. There are some new tapestries crossing our two sigils, but any sole direwolf banners have been tucked away out of sight. The sky blue of Manderly only looks jarring compared to the dark halls, a grotesque color against the stones. 

“We should tear them down,” Isybelle mutters under her breath one morning during our resumed walks around the grounds. Nella and Alienor nod fervently, but Brienne and I choose to ignore the comment. Even though I feel as though I’ve disappointed my ladies in my acceptance of Thyo’s actions, they have been so kind to me and so pleased with my eating more, I do not chide them for their thoughts. 

“Has he asked you again to make an announcement?” Alienor asks me quietly. 

“Every day, almost,” I whisper back. “I’m trying to deter it as much as I can.”

“You’re going to run out of excuses soon, he won’t have much more patience,” Nella warns. 

“We’ll have to come up with some to help,” Isybelle sounds almost excited at the intrigue. 

Our walk continues onto the ramparts as it is a warmer day than normal. The lands around Winterfell stretch out until they disappear at the horizon. We turn west and face the expansive Wolfswood, a tangle of trees and roots, always dark even in high noon. There’s a small streak of white smoke coming from the northwestern edge. 

“Do you see that?” I ask my companions. “That’s not a wood fire, that looks like a camp site fire.” 

“It does indeed, Your Grace,” Brienne agrees, moving to the edge of the rampart to examine it closer. “It’s probably a leper, or a lone traveler trying to stay out of sight. Someone in the courtyard this morning mentioned seeing smoke and a small fire last night too.”

“Why would a traveler want to stay out of sight so close to Winterfell?” Alienor asks naively. Brienne and I exchange glances, remembering cold nights of travel trying to stay as undetectable as possible. 

“People have their reasons,” I finally murmur, suppressing a cool shudder. The ladies nod, looking perplexed, then continue their stroll. Pulling Nella back, I let Brienne pass with only a curious glance from her. Once we’re out of earshot, I whisper to her, “If the smoke continues past this week, I want you to try to find out who is the person.”

She gives me a searching look. “You don’t think it’s…him?” We haven’t spoken Pod’s name since he left. 

“I don’t truly, but I still want to know who it is. I would ask Brienne, but if it is him she won’t be able to be subtle about it. If you need to inquire, I expect it to be using as much stealth as possible. No going out there on your horse to investigate – we need to be tactful. And if it is him – make sure he is somehow sent away. He can’t be seen. Thyo will murder anyone who even reminds him of… of Pod, I’m sure of that,” I force myself to say his name, flinching at the unfamiliarity I say it with now.

“Of course, my Queen. I have some people in mind who could check it out without raising much attention, if need be.” 

“Thank you, Nella. Hopefully, there will be no need.” 

The entire week my body buzzes with the possibility of it being Pod. I’m distracted almost constantly, the hope only briefly flaring up before fear and grief crush it back down when I remember even if he’s following my court, we will not ever interact again. The risk is too much from Thyo who still casually mentions wishing he was able to execute him instead of letting him leave the court. Every time he says this, the knife twists in my heart and I have to excuse myself from the room, not without Thyo’s eyes following me. 

“I’m going to arrange for a young girl to go looking for wild berries in the woods the day after next,” Nella tells me quietly as she braids my hair before bed a few nights later. 

“Fresh berries would be delightful to have for breakfast one morning,” I say as calmly as I can. 

“Yes, they would be,” Nella grins at me in the mirror, the first time in a long time in my presence. 

Unfortunately, she is never able to communicate with her child spy to look for berries. The next morning, Thyo bursts into my room while she, Alienor, and Isybelle attend to me. We’re all in our sleeping robes, brushing our hair and helping the other’s plait their own. 

“Thyo, this is most uncalled for, we’re barely presentable,” I try to sound as level and kind as I can. He ignores me and walks to my personal desk, flipping over letters from his uncle and Tyrion. 

“No response from your brother yet, I can assume?” His voice is acid and I realize the day will be a difficult one. 

“Not yet, I’m afraid.” My ladies watch him like hawks, unmoving in his presence. He ignores them and walks over to my opened closet and starts to flip through my gowns. 

“The first sample of wedding garments is ready from the seamstress, I received word this morning. We’ll have to send someone to pick them up.”

“We can arrange for that,” I am cautious. His tone doesn’t match the casualness he’s attempting with his actions and I expect he has some plan brewing to sow discord. “Y Ser Brienne can go-“ 

“No, she’s going to go to King’s Landing and will not return until she has a letter from your brother in hand,” he wheels around to glare at me. “Your ladies with a few of my men will go to White Harbor to pick up the garments.” 

I consider my words carefully. “Of course Brienne should go get the letter herself, she’s very loyal and determined, she will certainly bring back the letter we await.” He snorts and pours himself wine from my personal store below my desk. “But I do think having all three of my ladies go to White Harbor would just be burdensome for your men. Why not send one or two to go? I always need help from one, unfortunately.” 

A bark of a mirthless laugh follows. “No, I don’t think you always need help from one, Sansa,” Thyo smiles into his cup and takes a sip. “That usually leads to such… trouble.” Ice fills my stomach. “All three will go. Immediately.” He turns his regard to the three ladies, now standing together on the side of the room. “Go and pack. Now!” They shoot me a worried glance before unwillingly following his orders. At opened door, he already has three men ready to personally escort them to their rooms. I stand in alarm, having not imagined the extent of this plot. 

“Brienne has already been sent away, hasn’t she?” 

He smiles. “That’s the most cunning you’ve been in months, Sansa. Yes, I sent her away at first light, escorted, of course, by some of my men. Even though she’s a large wench, she can’t overtake a handful of White Harbor men. And she won’t be able to leave King’s Landing without a letter alive, I’m afraid.” 

“Well, it sounds like we’ll be married at her return,” I try to placate him, try to keep the bubbling fear in my stomach from turning into a scream. 

Another laugh. “We’ll be married much sooner, Sansa. I almost expected you to have worked that out by now.” He walks up to me and grabs a wrist tightly in his muscled hand. “Get dressed. I fancy a horse ride with you.” Dropping my hand unceremoniously, he flops down in a velvet chair still holding his wine cup. I slowly walk to a chest filled with riding dresses and clothing. Methodically I slip on undergarments, riding breeches, and the matching overdress. 

“Bring a more womanly dress too, my betrothed,” he demands from his seat. I find a grey dress from a closet, panic clouding my mind so much I don’t even know which dress I choose. It fits into a small pack I’ve used when venturing into Winter’s Town to shop for small gifts. 

“I believe I’m ready, my lord,” trying to speak calmly, not wanting to alarm him in any way. 

“Good.” He grabs my arm again and marches me out of the room, down the stairs, and into the courtyard where two horses are already saddled and waiting for us. The stable boy looks at me with such fear I can’t acknowledge him without drawing Thyo’s attention. Roughly, Thyo lifts me up and sets me on the saddle, then ties my leg with twine to the saddle. My shock at his in-depth preparation prevents me from even gasping at the tightness with which he pulls at the rope. 

“My lord, what if she falls?” One of his men attending nearby asks without much concern. 

“Then, what an awful accident to befall our Queen,” Thyo half-mutters to himself. He stands back after tying my other leg down and seems almost proud of his handiwork. 

“I’m surprised by this skill in planning, Thyo,” I spit out, not caring now if he’s angered. He’s captured me and is taking me to some uncertain fate, I care not if he’s in a rage during the ride. Maybe he’ll be the one to fall and meet an accident if I anger him enough. 

Instead of anger, he laughs. “You have truly always underestimated me, Sansa. It’s really a disappointment.” Then he ties my horse to his, launches himself into the saddle, and kicks his horse to start galloping out of the courtyard and towards the Wolfswood. 

“Where are you taking me?” I cry out after we enter the dark forest, causing me to dodge low-hanging branches and direct my horse around roots as much as I can. 

“Gods, Sansa, you really are an idiot,” he takes a swig from a flask at his hip. “To Tumbledown Tower, north of the woods.” 

I curse at myself for my ignorance. Of course, he’s going to hole me up there and find a drunken septon to marry us. I can’t devise a way to get out of my saddle without certain death, I have no skills like Arya to save myself in a physical manner, so I comply with the kidnapping. At least I know where he’s taking me and have a guess at his next steps. 

We arrive at the foot of the tower at nightfall. It’s in half-ruins, but the door at the bottom remains and it is heavy and as thick as a stone wall. Thyo unties me and throws me over his shoulder. 

“I’m not risking you trying to run away,” he informs me darkly as I struggle slightly against his hands. 

He takes me up to the first landing of the spiral staircase, the stone crumbled and exposed to the open air. It’s too far to jump, and he could easily capture me again even if I tried. Returning to the door, Thyo closes it tightly then proceeds to drag me up three more flights to the top floor. This part of the tower somehow is still completely intact and furnished, if not slightly dusty and moldy. 

“I hope you like your temporary chambers, Your Grace,” he mockingly gestures around the room. I remain silent, watching him closely. He’s breathing heavily from the effort of herding me to this floor. “I’d join you, but I have a septon to find. Don’t try to jump out, you’ll only kill yourself and I don’t want to have to see that mess. And the door will be tightly locked, both to this room and to the tower, so I am sorry to inform you that you’ll have to entertain yourself until I return.” After he bolts the door to the room from the outside, he calls out a goodnight, and his barking laugh travels up the stairwell as he exits the tower and bolts the first door from the outside. 

Panic wells in my stomach and I allow it to overcome me. I fall to the ground in the middle of the room, crying until I can’t breathe. Once the initial panic passes, I take a moment to stand and acquaint myself with my prison. It’s a circular room, about twenty feet in diameter. There’s a bed against one part of the wall with fresh linens and a heavy blanket. Across the room from the bed is a table that holds pieces of good bread, cheese, and wine. There’s candles and a few books from my library. Thyo’s far exceeded my expectations, and I laugh wildly at the care with which he’s chosen the linens, foods, and entertainment for me. How can there be such evil in keeping me here and yet such attention to my comforts?

I sit on the bed, alternating between sobbing and laughing hysterically. A voice in my head tells me to accept my fate, another to jump out the window, and another, stronger one urges me to have courage and not make a rash decision. I fall back and stare at the ceiling. Without a lit candle, the starlight dances on the wooden planks and I find myself distracted until I eventually drift off into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind notes and kudos!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: descriptions of violence and attempted sexual violence in this chapter.

I spend two days vibrating from anxiety. Although Thyo left me food, it’s not enough to last more than a handful of days, so I lay in bed rather than do anything that might use energy. Pacing would help me think more, but I know I cannot become weak while imprisoned in the tower. The one time I explore the room, I do find a that a piece of the stone wall slides independently, revealing a secret nook in which only a body or two could fit. Laughing bitterly, I think of the irony that Thyo should put me in a place with such a spot, as it had brought him such ire during my royal tour. Only this room cannot help me escape, and I could only hide from him for so long before he would burn down the entire tower to find me. 

I pay attention to the sounds around me, trying to stay calm and focused. There are birds chirping constantly, deer that rustle through bushes and tall grasses, and one night, I swear I hear a wolf’s howl. When I take the surroundings into account, I’m faced with a much less pastoral reality: there’s no way to get out of the tower without hurting myself. No trees stand tall near to the window that would help me climb down to the ground; there are not enough sheets on the bed or clothes in the room to make a rope; tall, dense trees border the entire horizon, so setting a smoke signal or waving something to alert a passerby seems hopeless. The only oddity is a small stream of smoke coming from the woods that I see the first two nights I am imprisoned. I feel completely and utterly trapped. 

In all of my unoccupied time, as reading doesn’t serve as a successful distraction, I think about my family. With the inevitability of this semi-forced marriage, I can’t help but think that I have failed them. Robb especially, as he lost his life fighting for the North’s independence, which will essentially be handed over to House Manderly as soon as Thyo returns with a septon. My mother would worry over me, making a prayer wreath to the seven gods, while my father would rail against the tower itself, threatening to bring it to the ground on his own. Rickon, Jon’s, and Arya’s faces flash before my eyes, portraits of pain and fury and angry at the another Stark sibling imprisonment. I cry myself to sleep one night thinking of Lady and how I wish I had her to comfort me in my loneliness. Bran may well know what has happened to me but is unable to act in a realm he does not rule. I even imagine the reactions of the dead who cared for me in other lives – Shae, Margaery Theon – and those who did not care for me– Cersei, Littlefinger, my aunt, Lysa. 

I’m in such an emotional state when Thyo bursts into the room unexpectedly on my third day of imprisonment. It is high noon, warmer than usual, and I lay on the bed, tears streaming down my face. My display of weakness, helplessness, brings a perverse joy to his face. He knows he has won. 

“Good day, Sansa.” I watch him cautiously, disgusted by his arrogance. He paces around the room, placing a lit torch on a lone wall sconce, checks the window, flips through a book. “The expected reply is, ‘Good day, Lord Thyo.’” 

I choke out a mirthless laugh. “So you are still to be addressed as a lord, and yet I should not be addressed as the queen I am?” 

His eyes narrow in anger, but he shakes his head to brush it away and sits on the edge of the bed. “Soon we will both have royal titles, my betrothed,” his smile is sickly sweet. “I have found a septon who has agreed to marry us tonight, once his work is finished for the day. I wanted to check on you and it seems you are managing quite well. Solitude suits you, it would seem.” With a gentle pat to my leg, he stands and walks through the door, closing it tightly and locking it behind him. 

“Be ready tonight, my betrothed, in the gown you brought! We are to be married before bed.” He shouts through the door and I hear his retreat down the steps and through the first door, its lock’s clang echoing through the stairwell. 

Sitting up, my breathing becomes short and shallow. I close my eyes, trying to will the panic down into my stomach, away from my chest, to no avail. The last time I felt this choking inevitability was when Ramsey returned from his victory against Stannis and Theon and I escaped Winterfell…

Theon and I jumped off a rampart into the snow. It was a mad idea, it should have resulted in our deaths, but instead and we were saved by Brienne and Pod. Theon’s sudden bravery was surprising but heartening, I trusted him so blindly, and I am shocked at myself for forgetting these events. During that time, another brave soul was killed for trying to help me – an old woman, loyal to the Starks, who instructed me to put a candle in the window if I needed help. It never worked, but in this current captivity, I only have candles and no snow banks at my disposal. Moving quickly for the first time in days, I rush to the table and find a candle. It lights easily against the torch Thyo left burning on the wall. When I wedge the candle into the window’s stones, I stand back and observe it’s flickering light. This is most likely futile, but I have to at least try. My eyes trace the candle’s smoke upwards as it merges with the distant wood’s smoke I’ve seen the past few days. 

The magic of the moment wearing off quickly, I find the grey dress and dutifully, resignedly put it on myself. When I return to sprawl on the bed, I am exhausted and despairing. Thyo will return with a septon, and I will become his wife. Crying again, I stare at the ceiling and the shadows made by the torch until I drift into a shallow, fitful sleep. 

A loud shout rouses me with a start. I groan, as it must be Thyo returning with his septon. Then, I hear it again, and I know I must be losing touch with reality. 

“Sansa? Your Grace?” It’s Pod’s voice, but I know Pod cannot be anywhere near me. It must be a howl on the wind or something that my mind is turning into what I desperately want to hear. 

And yet, the voice continues. “Sansa, it’s Pod. Please! If you’re there, please show yourself!”

I sit up and close my eyes with a sigh. I decide I will indulge this phantom voice, created by my mind. Walking slowly to the window, each step painfully rising my hopes, I take a moment before peering over the windowsill to pray. 

“Sansa! Please!” 

I lean forward and open my eyes, and there he is. My beautiful knight stands on the ground below, eyebrows knitted in fear, face pinched with pain as he squints up to the top of the tower. When he sees my face, his own countenance melts into a relieved calm. “My Queen,” he says almost under his breath as a wide and crooked smile transforms his face. 

“Pod!” I sob his name. “How… why… I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“I’ll explain once I’m up there!” 

I look around, trying to find what he has brought that would help him breach the thick doors Thyo has locked. Before I can ask him how, he reaches an arm up to grasp a rough rock jutting from the tower’s wall. His foot finds a low opening, and he begins to slowly, painstakingly, pull himself up and up using these small holes and pieces. My heart jumps in my throat as I watch, unable to help in any way. He grunts periodically, loses footing every ten feet, and is sweating profusely after making it up most of the way. When he’s close enough for me to see the details of his face, I am sobbing and saying his name over and over again. Finally, Pod lurches himself up and over the windowsill and lands in a crumble on the floor, panting from his effort. I drop to my knees and cradle his head, wiping away sweat and tears. He gazes up at me, smiling, despite the exhaustion and pain he must be in. 

“You’re bleeding, my love,” I finally murmur when I spot his hands. They are raw, torn from the stones, and dripping small drops of blood onto himself, my grey dress, and the floor. 

“Oh,” he merely wipes his hands on his clothes, spreading a dark, dull red onto the browns and blacks he usually wears. Then he sits up and looks at me with such concern my heart aches. “Are you okay, my Queen?” 

“I am not hurt. It’s better now that you’re here. How did you find me?” 

His face turns a dark red. “I’ve been following the court since White Harbor. Camping in wooded areas, sleeping during the day and waiting at night. I didn’t think you’d use the candle in the window again, but I was hoping I’d see some sign if you needed to be saved. Then, I was in the wolfswood when I saw two riders galloping, a horse tied to another. Your red hair – I knew it was you, knew it was that bastard, and so I followed… again.” 

“Oh, Pod,” I leaned forward now and kissed him, grasping his face tightly in my hands. “I do not deserve you, I have never deserved you.” 

His eyes darken, and he grasps my shoulders. “You deserve anything that makes you happy, Sansa.” 

With that, we no longer speak, no longer think. Instead, our mouths find each other and I am reaching for the laces at his waist, his hands quickly finding the ties in the front of my dress, undoing them as deftly as any maid could. We soon stand bare, facing each other. I drink in his lean, sleek body as though for the first time and as our eyes meet, another flush creeps up his neck to his cheekbones. 

Falling to the bed, he rests on top of me, hands on the pillows by my head. His nose traces my own, and he slowly lowers his mouth to engulf mine with a deep kiss. My body is overcome with immediate need, and every brush of his skin against my own sends shivers down my spine. Easily, his hands find my center and he finds me slick with anticipation; his subsequent smile against my lips only serve to make me moan. When he enters me, he cries out as he pushes himself into me as deeply as he can. I am fire in the moment, burning and panting as I claw at his back to urge him to move more quickly. There’s no tact in my desire, only an overwhelming push to feel him wholly, feel his body move against mine, feel his warmth both inside and out. 

Pod chooses to demonstrate restraint, slowly grinding his hips until I’m almost mewing and crying out for more. Sweat drips onto my face from his and his hands grip the pillows in ecstasy and control. His hip bone rubs against my center, bringing me to a shaking climax while he continues his agonizing slow but deep thrusts. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his face close to mine so I can breathe in his scent. I entangle my legs around his and he finally starts moving faster and faster, until all I can focus on is the movement between us, becoming one person as we forget where the other starts, and just as I reach another, more intense peak I hear him whisper my name and release into me, letting his body rest heavily on mine as I shudder through my own. 

I smile as I twirl my fingers through his hair and he caresses my face, his eyes bearing into mine as his fingers delicately trace my cheek bones, nose, lips, eye lids. We roll onto our sides and continue not speaking, just soaking in the other’s long-awaited presence. He seems more serious since I forced him to leave in White Harbor, less naïve. 

“Why are you frowning?” He whispers and traces my lips with a finger. 

“Are you the same Pod I sent away?” 

“Of course, my Queen. And, if anything, I’m more dedicated to you than before.”

“How can you say that, Pod? I’ve been wretched, horrible. I sent you away, am betrothed to another man.” He flinches at the mention of Lord Thyo. “How can you still love me?” 

“How could I not, Sansa? I told you before. You are my everything. My beginning and my end. Nothing could change that, even if you despised me and banished me with the penalty of death if I returned. I will always be your knight, I will always love you.” 

Tears spring to my eyes. “I haven’t stopped loving you, Pod. I’ve been miserable. Please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my Queen.”

“Oh, Pod.” I kiss him deeply, weeping slightly. “I don’t know what to do. H-He’s gone looking for a septon, he could be back any minute to force me to marry him. What can we do?” The sound of panic rises in my voice and I can’t swallow it back. 

“I came to rescue you, Sansa. And I will. Quickly, get dressed, let’s leave at once.” 

We start to scramble to dress, I donning my grey gown now stained with Pod’s dark blood, he his own bloodstained clothes. “How can we get out – the doors are barred and thick.” 

Looking around the room, Pod grins when he sees the wooden table. “We’ll have to –“ 

He stops suddently, putting a finger over his lips. Soon I hear what he hears – Thyo’s return. Pod must have heard his horse’s hooves against the earth, I only hear him as the front door unlocks and he starts his ascent to the top of the tower. 

“Quick,” I whisper, gesturing to the false wall. “There’s a space here, he doesn’t know of it I’m sure…” I push the wall until it slides and Pod scrambles into the tight space, laces untied but his sword right in hand. I give him one last desperate kiss before sliding the door, darkening his face until it’s hidden completely. 

I try to straighten the room as fast as I can, making it seem like I’ve been alone since he’s left me. There’s no way to hide the red from my face, but I can hope Thyo sees me as a blushing bride, not a well-attended to lover. 

He practically kicks the door in to find me perched on the chair at the desk, dressed as he wished, my hair fanned out across my shoulders to cover Pod’s bloody handprints. He barely looks at me, and instead walks in as though he was Aegon the Conquerer himself. 

“The septon is on his way and should be here soon.” Thyos glances around the room, still ignoring me, but I tense when his eyes fall upon the messily made bed. He strides to it quickly, and I stand in anticipation. Flicking the bedspread down, his eyes widen until they’re almost popping out of his head when he sees rusty bloodstained marks on the pillows, left by Pod’s stone-torn hands. Whirling around, he walks up to me and grabs my upper arm. 

“Where is he?” He demands through clenched teeth, eyes flashing dark. 

“Who? I’ve been alone-“ Thyo’s hand cuts me off as he brings it across my cheek. 

“Don’t fucking lie to me. I have no idea how you’ve managed to spread your legs while locked up in here, but I will fucking kill him when I find him.” Thyo pulls me over to the bed and pushes me down onto my back. “And you will not fucking leave this bed until after our marriage is consummated.” He rips the bedsheet until it comes apart in several strips, which he ties tightly around my hands and legs to the four bedposts. Tears stream down my face at the pain and fear, my cheek still burning from his slap. 

“I will marry you right fucking now, Sansa Stark, if this septon delays any longer. The old gods care not for witnesses and a cloak. We can say the old words and I can finally take what is mine from your whoring, greedy hands.” He considers me for a moment, taking in my tears, shaking, and pulling at my restraints. “I could fucking take you now, Sansa,” he whispers harshly, reaching for the laces at his waist. “It’s not like you’ve been fucking saving yourself for me. I’ve never asked, never pushed, but maybe it’s fucking time for you to finally give to me. ” 

As he focuses on his breeches, taking longer than he should because of his drinking, I’m sure, I freeze. I can’t move, I know I won’t be able to fight him, and suddenly the room looks like my old one in Winterfell where Ramsey would rape me night after night. When Thyo looks up at me in frustration, I see Ramsey’s face. Now I am sobbing, confused, feeling like stones sit on my chest to keep me from breathing. My skin is sweating and crawling and I cannot remember where I am anymore. Thyo grabs one of my legs to try to keep me still, and I try to kick him away as I cry out, “No! No! Get away from me!” 

I’m still screaming when I see the false wall start to slide slowly. Pod’s head comes around the corner and he shakes his head quickly in hopes I don’t draw attention to him. Somehow through my panic and memories I think to yell more loudly, to thrash about more violently, to keep Thyo’s attention on me. He’s cursing at me and yelling, trying to keep my arms and legs from flailing too much so he can more easily get closer to me. As he successfully pins down my arms with his hands, one leg with his own, he inches his free leg up between my thighs, causing bile to rise into my mouth. He’s made it too difficult for me to move enough to deter him, but when Pod’s face rises behind him, my widened eyes are enough to make Thyo stop. He suddenly stands up straight, arms outraised. When he turns slightly I can finally see why – Pod has put his sword’s sharpened tip up against Thyo’s lower back, pushing him around until Thyo is opposite the room from me. 

“You conniving, southron shit,” Thyo spits at Pod. 

“Lord Thyo, I do not wish to stab you through the back. Fight me like a man, to the death.” Pod lets his sword come away from Thyo’s back, but does not drop it. I can only watch in horror as the two men square up, Thyo drawing his larger sword from its scabbard.

“If you insist, you southron swine. I look forward to plunging my sword into your throat, with Sansa watching you die miserably.” Pod gives no reaction except to glance in my direction as I whimper. Then, suddenly, the sound of iron hitting iron echoes around the room as both men spar and slash and parry and thrust. Pod’s determined face contrasts with how quickly Thyo’s changes from arrogant to panicked. Thyo’s sword may be larger, his blows may be harder, but Pod is steadfast, quick, and cunning. Despite my horror, I am awed by his grace with the sword, his tenacity when fighting his opponent. 

With a high swing, Thyo successfully cuts shallowly into Pod’s sword arm, causing Pod to stagger briefly. When Thyo raises his sword above his head to bring it down on Pod, however, Pod is able to block it and throw Thyo into the desk. Thyo’s head hits the corner and he scrambles to get back to his feet with his sword in hand. Anger flashes across Pod’s face and he begins to slash his sword at Thyo again and again in his frustration. Despite seeming defeated, Thyo is able to block these swipes and soon has Pod retreating to the other side of the wall. Tearing down a tapestry with his weapon, Thyo begins to hack at Pod and again brings a blow down onto Pod’s left shoulder. Crying out, Pod slides to the floor and watches Thyo approach with a fierce gleam in his eyes. As he raises his sword for what seems like a final time, I can’t look away at what may be Pod’s death. 

Unable to bite my tongue, I cry out, “Pod, I love you!” 

Thyo’s heads snaps toward me, giving Pod enough time to throw out his leg and kick Thyo to the ground next to him. Using the wall for support, Pod stands up quicker than Thyo and then swiftly pushes his sword into Thyo’s chest with an upsetting squelching sound. Thyo grunts and then his head falls back and hits the ground, hard, and stays there, unmoving except the twitching that courses through his body. 

Pod rushes over to me and begins to cut away my bindings with his small dagger. He pulls me into his arms, burying his head into my neck as I wrap my arms around his body, clutching at his clothes and hair. His blood for a second time that night drips onto my clothes and he flinches when my hand finds the cut on his shoulder. 

“We need to get you help,” I murmur quietly, weakly. 

He nods and picks me up despite his injured shoulder. I take one final glance at Thyo, whose grey-blue eyes have turned glassy and his body rests at a splayed angle. Thick blood bubbles out of his mouth. My nose wrinkles at the sight, one I have unfortunately seen before, and I re-bury my head into Pod’s neck as he carries me down the steps, out into the night. A faint breeze and delicious fresh air greets us as we walk to Pod’s horse, hidden and tied up underneath a willow tree close to the tower. The half-moon’s light reveals the septon Thyo had found, passed out at the tower’s entrance, and Thyo’s horse that grazes peacefully on grass, completely unaware of his master’s fate. 

Pod lifts me easily onto his horse, then pulls me down for a quick kiss, holding my face tightly in his hands. We don’t speak, but I grab his hand before he can pull it away and place it on my cheek again, giving it a quick squeeze. His eyes meet mine and I see pain but relief in them, and I hope he sees gratitude and adoration in mine. Swinging up onto his horse in front of me, I lean into Pod’s back and wrap my arms around his stomach as he takes up the reins, kicks his horse, and we head off towards Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's one more chapter left! Thank you for all of your kind support!


	11. Chapter Eleven

We ride hard beneath the stars and moon until the gates to Winterfell open up to us as the sky just begins to lighten. The courtyard is mostly empty except for the maids who are up early to light the fireplaces and any stable boys preparing horses for the early hunters. When Pod and I trot into its center, all their eyes are upon us as he slides weakly from the horse, favoring his wounded arm, then helps me slide off as well. We clutch at each other for a moment, breathing heavily, but are relieved to be home again. 

“Fetch Maester Crannen!” I shout out to a gaping maid, who immediately drops the basket she’s holding to run towards the maester’s tower. We didn’t feel safe enough to stop until we were within the walls of Winterfell, and now I turn to Pod to fuss at his arm, trying to rip away his sleeve and look at his wounds. “Pod, are you okay? Does it hurt? Oh, gods, Pod…” 

He looks up at me through his eyelashes and gently stays my hands, “I’m okay, my Queen.” Then he brings one of my hands to his lips to kiss gently, pushing hair out of my eyes with his free hand. I lean into him and we stand there, holding each other, until Maester Crannen stumbles into the courtyard still rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“Maester Crannen,” I address him as he gives a shallow bow. “Ser Podrick needs immediate attention to his wounds. Once you’ve attended to him, please send letters to all of our liege lords demanding their urgent arrival to Winterfell.” I pause for a moment. “And send some men to go and collect Lord Thyo’s body from the Tumbledown Tower.” 

“Yes, Your Grace.” To his credit, Crannen takes my orders in stride, leading an exhausted Pod away back towards his tower. Giving me one last look, Pod smiles over his shoulder to me and I feel peaceful for the first time in months. 

A yelp interrupts the quiet of the blossoming morning and before I can turn fully to see what it was, Nella comes crashing into me, her arms pinning my own down as she sobs her thanks for my wellbeing. 

“Nella… Nella… Please!” I choke out into her hair as she hugs me harder before finally letting me go. 

“Sansa… oh thank the gods, Sansa we were so worried,” she has tears running down her face when she finally lets me go and looks into my face. 

“Let’s go to my chambers, there we can talk about everything.” She and I link arms and she helps me up the stairs to my chamber. Fortunately, there are not many people up yet and so my distressed, messy state goes mostly unnoticed. When Nella opens my bedroom door, however, one person I don’t mind seeing me in such a state stands tensely by the fire. 

“Ser Brienne!” I cry and go to hug her tightly. 

“Your Grace, I have to apologize – I am such a fool to believe you would send me to run such an errand. I have failed you deeply,” she kneels at my feet, blonde head looking down at the ground, and I can feel the intensity of her anger towards herself. 

I gently place a hand on her shoulder, beckoning her to rise. “Brienne, there’s nothing to forgive. We all wished to believe he was a truer person. How were you able to return so quickly?”

“I stopped at Moat Cailin. That’s when I realized he was trying to get me as far away from you as possible. I changed course as soon as I was able and headed to White Harbor, thinking that’s where he would have taken you.” 

“But instead she found us,” Nella adds as she busies herself with helping me undress out of my bloodied and muddied gown. 

“Burn that,” I murmur. 

She nods, then continues her part of the story. “Isybelle and Alienor are sleeping, we had such an eventful few days. Brienne brought us back yesterday. She fought off the men Thyo had sent with us then let two of us ride the horse while the others walked. Finally we came across an inn who lent us some horses to finish the ride to Winterfell.”

“I’m so grateful that you are all safe. Your bravery is to be commended, all of you. Once all of this business is tied up, I’ll make sure we have some peaceful days to rest and enjoy each other’s company. Brienne, thank you.” I squeeze her hand and she nods once, looking away. Nella and I allow her an emotional moment. 

“Business?”

“Yes.” I feel my jaw jet out, a habit fueled by my anger. “My abduction was only possible due to my liege lords’ insistence that I marry sooner than later. Their greed and disrespect jeopardized my safety and the safety of the kingdom.” 

“He threatened your safety long before he kidnapped you,” Nella’s comment is quiet, but still full of heat. 

“Yes, but that did not necessarily affect the kingdom. Before his transgressions were personal, his last one treasonous.” 

“What’s to become of him?” Brienne adds, recovered from her moment. 

I take a deep breath. “Pod killed him.” A heavy silence fills the air between us, Brienne shifting on her feet and Nella looking at me with wide eyes. “Thyo was about to… force himself on me, and Pod challenged him to a fair fight to the death. Pod won.” 

“So now…” Nella looks at me with an excited fire in her eyes and I hope I give her the same look. 

“So now my lords will come and answer for their actions.”

 

It takes five days before the first lord arrives. In the meantime, Thyo’s body has been brought back and lies in the armory, under guard night and day. Pod doesn’t leave my side once Maester Crannen finishes tending to him. His shoulder wound is stitched up and his sword arm is tender, but otherwise he is as whole and hale as I could hope him to be. We are openly inseparable, as I have him dine next to me on my right side the first night of our return. He shares my bed and we no longer hide what is between us. 

“I’ve had to hide so much of my life for so long,” I tell him one day in the godswood as we await the lords’ arrivals. “I’m choosing to live how I wish from now on.”

“Yes, my Queen,” he gives me a small smile and a kiss at my assertion, understanding that my independence is also his own. 

I spend time with my ladies as well, grateful that despite their terrifying experience with Thyo’s men and Brienne’s use of force, they remain strong and steadfast. They insist I rest to recover as well, and so most of the time they, Pod, Brienne, and I remain in my solar, lounging, recuperating, and talking as though the past week had not happened. 

Once the lords begin showing up at the gates, some with a small retinue of men on horses, others in full carriages with chests towed behind, my focus turns solely to the task at hand. Rage I had not yet felt builds with each new arrival. I greet Lord Cerwyn myself and dine with him privately one night, reconfirming his loyalty and support in the days to come. The other lords I do not greet, allowing Nella, Alienor, and Isybelle to play the welcoming hosts while I remain hidden behind my chambers, Pod still always by my side. 

Lord Manderly, as I expected, is the last lord to arrive. When his carriage rumbles into the courtyard, I only have Brienne greet him and show him to his guest rooms. Nella helps prepare me for the gathering taking place later that night. The lords will be offered bread and wine as guest right at the start of the night, but this will be no evening of festivity. I have had the servants line chairs in rows facing the dais where only my throne will be placed. Playing their games for so long, I am now ready to expose us all with as little fanfare and spectacle as possible. 

The one piece of drama I do allow, however, is a silver armored breastplate that Nella has found in storage from the Battle of the Long Night. It is fitted snuggly and goes up to my collarbone, and as she secures it around my waist, I have to wonder the fate of the woman who wore it before me. Under the breastplate I wear a white fitted gown, serious but ethereal. Nella fans my hair over my shoulders before placing my crown onto my head, completing the simple look. As I regard myself briefly in a mirror, Cersei bitterly comes to my mind. Her own armored look had so inspired me during the Battle of the Blackwater, and I wonder perversely if she would perhaps admire the woman I have become. 

When the door opens to the Great Hall for me, all of the lords stand abruptly. Silence descends and the only sounds that echo off the stones are from the lit torches lining the walls. Pod falls in step behind me as I walk down the aisle left clear between the rows of chairs and arrive to the dais. He holds out a hand to help me ascend the steps, then takes his place to the right of my throne. I sit and stare out at the men before me whose own faces range from admiring to worried to fearful. Lord Manderly wears a black armband in morning of his great-nephew; I had added a note to his summons to inform him of Thyo’s fate. 

“My lords, please be seated,” I call out. They obey and the sounds of wooden chair legs on stone floor drown out any of their murmurs. Glaring at them, I swallow anger to address them evenly. “I’m sure you’re all aware of the reason you have been asked to be present tonight. Just a week ago, the man from your ranks who was to be declared my future husband abducted me from my own home, the realm’s seat, Winterfell. Lord Thyo intended to marry me during my imprisonment without my consent and forcefully take control of my rule. When my sworn knight, Ser Podrick Payne, came to my aid, Lord Thyo attempted to rape me. Ser Podrick challenged him and demanded a fight to the death. Lord Thyo agreed and was slain during the effort.” I pause, allowing shock to settle amongst the men. Some start whispering to each other and many look horrified and angry. Lord Manderly remains neutral amongst the tittering. “Ser Podrick prevented me from being harmed and dishonored. For his valor and loyalty, he will be rewarded as I see fit.” A few men shout their “ayes” at my declaration. Others remain silent. 

I take a deep breath before continuing. “I did not request your presence to merely account what could have been written and sent by raven. No,” I almost laugh at the rage that begins to bubble in the pit of my stomach. “No, that is not why I have gathered you here. You are here to face your misleading guidance and insistence regarding a quick marriage for your Queen. Your demands, your greed, your shortsightedness threatened the North’s stability and independence. Your Queen’s safety was at risk - your sovereign, who symbolizes the peace and unity of the realm. Should I have been harmed, killed, or deposed by a lord whose ambition outstripped his loyalty to his country, the North would have been thrown into chaos again, after such brief peace. And for what reason? Your urgency to have a weak and malleable pawn at my side to influence as would benefit you the most.” My voice carries out over the hall and now all the lords remain silent, most looking meekly at the ground. Their humility does nothing to calm my nerves or the shake that has started in my hands and arms. 

“As you are aware, I have already been sold off before in my life to the highest bidder. Ramsay Snow was able to take control of the North, and usurp my family’s ancient seat. He treated me viley. I was his dog to be abused and imprisoned at his pleasure. Alone, I was abandoned by all until my escape and subsequent support from my brother, the former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Even then, some of you still did not come to our aid. And yet, we persevered and defeated the Dreadfort Bastard and placed Winterfell back into its rightful owner’s control. After the defeat of the Dead in the Battle of the Long Night, I secured the independence of the North from its longstanding southern chains. And in return for my perseverance, you presented me with a pseudo-Ramsey, a weaker Ramsey. Despite your sworn and sacred oaths of loyalty to the my rule, you still sought to manipulate it and me, allowing another man to disabuse me.”

Thick tension weaves its way around the lords as they still remain silent at my words. 

“I do not wish to deepen seeds of distrust and conflict. This will be the final and only time any of you will conspire blindly to further your own ambitions in lieu of my safety and sovereignty. You will all swear your oaths to me again before the night is through. If any of you are to violate them again, you will die a traitor’s death.”

A murmur of, “Aye, Your Grace,” rumbles through the hall. I sit slightly back in my chair and take a breath. 

“Lord Thyo of House Manderly will be remembered as a traitor to his queen. He has answered for his actions with death, but his actions did not manifest on his own. Lord Manderly,” I turn finally to face him directly, and am met with an even regard. “How do you answer for your kin?” 

Lord Manderly takes a moment to stand, gather himself, then meet my eyes again. “Your Grace, House Manderly has for centuries been a strong ally to House Stark. I do not wish to end this alliance and break trust with the realm. We humbly acknowledge Lord Thyo’s treachery and ask for forgiveness upon the rest of our house. To hopefully demonstrate our continued loyalty and support, I offer you our navy and its support to ensure the safety of all the North’s coastlines. I only beg of you the return of my great-nephews body, so he can be put to rest in our own way, and your blessing to display our mourning.”

I’m taken aback by his demeanor, acceptance, and requests. I had expected to be fought on my account of events, to be challenged by the strongest lord in my realm. “Your house is forgiven, Lord Manderly, and your requests will be allowed after your oath is sworn again.” 

He bows his head and returns to his seat. The tone of the room has gone from charged to calm, a change I am eager to welcome. While still angry, my hope is to only forge stronger loyalties for the years to come, not to take vengeance against my countrymen. 

“Lord Cerwyn,” I turn to him, and he seems surprised to be singled out. “Your loyalty has surpassed those of your countrymen. I thank you and wish to represent my gratitude by adding to the lands owned by House Cerywn. We will discuss this further in private.”

“T-thank you, Your Grace.” 

I nod to him. “My final reason to gather you all here is in regards to the future - my own and that of the realm.” Feeling the mostly admiring gazes from the lords and knowing Pod stands proudly behind me, I am heartened to continue. “There will be no further discussion of any betrothals or marriage. I will not marry any lord or magistrate, any king or prince. I am devoted to my people and so my marriage is with the North.” This elicits quiet titters between the lords and I raise a hand to quickly silence them. “Furthermore,” I straighten my back to its full height so I can peer down at my assembled lords to continue my decree, “Any child I may bear will be a trueborn Stark and therefore an heir to the Northern throne.”

I expect an uproar and am met with silence. Looking around, there seems to be a sense of acceptance from the lords. Perhaps they know already who I have in mind as my future children’s father, perhaps they assume this means I will not have any heirs. Regardless, the second fight I expected to have does not materialize and instead I am met with compliant, subdued lords. 

Suddenly, a shout erupts in the hall. “Hear, hear!” In the supportive shouting that follows, I hear briefly chants of “Bael the Bard!” and “Long live the Queen!” Humbled myself, I put a hand over my heart and bow my head to my lords, expressing my gratitude for their support. The rest of the evening proceeds in a blur, with lord after lord kneeling in front of me and resaying his vow of loyalty and support to my rule. I have servants bring ale and food to the lords and join them in the aftermath, which feels more like a celebration than an obligatory gathering. We don’t leave the Great Hall until dawn, when I finally decide that the festivities need to end for the sake of those attending to us. My lords kneel as I leave and cry out, “Queen in the North!” and I finally feel like their accepted queen. 

Pod dutifully offers his arm to me in the courtyard and guides me slowly to my chambers. He gives me a sly smile, “Am I to be called Bael the Bard now?” 

I feel my cheeks become hot. “That depends, do you plan on stealing me away?”

He tenses but relaxes with a smile when he realizes I’m only referring to the traditional tale. We walk peacefully, exhausted from the night and the past few weeks. Only when we lay down to sleep does Pod say something, when he thinks I’ve already drifted off. 

“You’re worth more than a single winter rose and an absent lover.”

Once the lords leave again after a few more days of feasts, the weeks fall into a pattern we had not experienced in some time. My ladies and I return to our morning walks, I return to overseeing the daily matters when holding court and reviewing letters, and the general repair of Winterfell and everyday life picks back up again. I receive neutral, diplomatic letters from both my brother Bran and Tyrion, expressing their relief at my safety. Tyrion sends me many impassioned personal letters, cursing himself for encouraging my betrothal and thanking the gods for my safe return. Bran’s only personal letter is brief compared to Tyrion’s, but he includes the line, “Pod will make for a worthy and deserving life partner to your rule.” I smile to myself when I read it, wondering if he’s guessing at my plans or has seen them come to fruition already. 

The weather has turned from chillingly cold to teasingly warm, and during one such temperate day I invite Pod to a walk around the godswood. We’re natural and at ease with each other and he finally has relaxed into his position as the queen’s favorite. Luckily for the both of us, the people of Winterfell accepted him long before I declared I would not marry, and so the transition is easy and uneventful. 

I motion for us to sit on the bench at the weirwood tree. He takes my hand in his own and plays with it while we lounge in the mild warmth of a hazy sun. A little abruptly, I end our reverie. 

“Pod, I never truly rewarded you for saving me,” he begins to shake his head but I don’t let him interrupt, “Like I said I would in front of all of my lords. I don’t think you want lands…”

“No, Sansa, I don’t. I wouldn’t want to ever have to live some place where you’re not,” he says quietly more to my hand than to me. I can’t help but to smile when he still is timid from time to time. 

“I wouldn’t either. So I have another idea. Let’s marry.”

Pod sputters at the suggestions, eyes widening dramatically, words unable to form. He lets go of my hand and moves away from me just barely. “You said you w-would never marry.”

I take his hand into my own and turn it over casually, tracing lines and scars. “I said I wouldn’t marry a king or a magistrate, a lord or a prince… I never said a knight,” I murmur to him.  
He looks at me incredulously. “Regardless, you don’t want a husband, you’ve said so many times. And besides me not being deserving,” I shoot him a glance but let him continue, “it’s not something you’ve wanted.”

“You’re not wrong. It’s only… you deserve to feel like you will always belong, that I will always, always want you at my side. When we have children, I want you to know they are not bastards, that they’re trueborn to you and I and no one else. I want us to live earnestly and honestly in front of our gods, knowing that we are doing the honorable and true thing.”

He stands quickly at the word “gods” and begins pacing a few steps back and forth in front of me. “You don’t want a political marriage.”

“No. I merely want you.”

I wait for Pod to say something else, as he watches the water ripple gently in the pond from a leaf. Then his eyes swing to the weirwood and a smile lightens his face. “Sansa, the old gods.”

It dawns on me and I find my face beam just as brightly as his. “We don’t need a witness or a septon, just us and the tree.” Energy courses between us as I stand and face him, grabbing his hands in mine. “We could do it now, and only we would know, but we would be able to live knowing we’ve done this for each other in front of the gods, and nothing can come between us.”

“We could. Hopefully they don’t mind a southron knight swearing this vow in front of them.” 

“They won’t, if you really mean the words. We’ll have to change them a little, though, as there usually is at least one other person guiding us through the vows. I can go first.” He nods, a faint blush creeping on his neck. I laugh gently at my southron knight who’s only ever worshipped in a sept, never in an open, wild godswood. “I, Queen Sansa of House Stark, come before the gods this day to be wed. I come a woman grown, trueborn and noble. I come to beg the blessing of the gods.” “I, Ser Podrick of House Payne… c-come to claim Queen Sansa,” Pod follows my mouthed words, smirking at his stumbling. “I take this woman in sight of the gods and vow to protect her, love her, and never leave her side,” my breath catches at Pod’s added vows and unexpected tears come to my eyes. “I take this man in sight of the gods and vow to love him, support him, and never leave his side.” Pod kisses me then, boldly and passionately. I wrap my hands around his neck, pulling him closer to me, his arms wrapping around my waist. A whisper through the leaves turns into a gentle breeze and there’s a bird calling in the branches, and we are lost in one another until I don’t know where I end and he begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so much fun to write and so much easier than I expected (which I think I owe to a great ship). Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. It's all been so kind and appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all - just a heads up that this is my first multi-chapter work! Any feedback will be so appreciated. I hope you enjoy reading this!!


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